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LALLA KOOKH; 



ORIENTAL ROMANCE 



BY 



THOMAS MOORE. 



NEW YORK; 
GEO. A. LEAVITT, PUBLISHER. 



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orFT 

BERTRAM SMITH 

DEC 8 1933 



SAMUEL ROGERS, Es^. 

ffRlS POEM IS DEDICATED, 

BY HIS 't ERY GRATEFUL AND 

AFFECTIONATE FRIEND, 

THOMAS MOORE. 

*fa5? 19, Iflll 



LALLA ROOKH. 



Is the eleventh year of the reign of Auruiig* 
Eebe, Abdallah, King of the Lesser Bucharia, a 
tineal descendant from the Great Zintris, hav- 
ing abdicated the throne in favor of his son, sei 
out on a pilgrimage to the Shrine of the Pro- 
phet : and passing into India through ihe de- 
lightful valley of Cashmere, rested for a short 
time at Delhi on his way. He was entertained 
by Aurungzebe in a style of magnificent hospi- 
tality, worthy alike of the visiter and the host, 
and was afterwards escorted with the same 
splendor to Surat, where he embarked for Ara- 
bia. During the stay of the Royal Pilgrim at 
Delhi, a marriage was agreed upon between the 
Prince, his son, and the youngest daughter of 
the Emperor, Lalla Rookh* ; — a Princess de 
ficribed by the poets of her time, as more beauii- 



• TuUp Cheek 



O LALLA KOOKH 

ful ihan Lelia, Shrine, Dewilde, or any of those 
heroines whose names and loves embelHshed the 
songs of Persia and Hindostan. It was intend- 
ed that the nuptials should be celebrated at 
Cashmere; where the young King, as soon as 
the cares of Empire would permit, was to meet, 
for the first time, his lovely bride, and after a 
few months' repose in that enchanting valley, 
fjonduct her over the snowy hills into Bucharia. 
The day of Lalla Rookh's departure from 
Delhi was as splendid as sunshine and pageantry 
could make it. The bazaars and baths were all 
covered with the richest tapestry; hundreds ol 
gilded barges upon the Jumna floated with their 
banners shining in the water ; while through 
the streets groups of beautiful children went 
strewing the most delicious flowers around, as 
in that Persian festival called the Scattering oi 
the Roses*; till every part of the city was as 
fragrant as if a caravan of musk frcmi Khoten 
had passed through it. The Princess, having 
taken leave of her kind father, who on parting 
hung a cornelian of Yemen round her neck, on 
which was inscribed a verse from the Koran, — 
and having sent a considerable present to the 
Fakirs, who kept up the Perpetual Lamp in her 
sister's tomb, meekly ascended the palankeen 
prepared for her ; and, while Aurungzebe stood 

*Gul ReRze^. 



AN ORIENTAL ROMANC 2. 7 

to take the last look from his balcony, the pro. 
cession moved slowy on the road to Lahore. 

Seldom had the Eastern world seen a caval 
cade so superb. From the gardens in the su- 
burbs to the Imperial palace, it was one unbro- 
ken hne of splendor. The gallant appearance ol 
the Rajas and Mogul lords, distinguished by 
those insignia of the Emperor's favor, the feath- 
ers of the egret of Cashmere in their turbans, 
and the small silver-rimmed kettle-drums at the 
bows of their saddles.; — the costly armor of their 
cavaliers, who vied on this occasion with the 
guards of the great Keder Kahn, in the bright- 
ness of their silver battle-axes and the massiness 
of their maces of gold ; the glittering of the gilt 
pine apples on the tops of the palankeens ; — the 
embroidered t'-appings '^f the elephants, bearing 
on their backs small lurrets, in the shape of 
little antique temples, within which the ladies 
of Lalla Rookh lay, as it were, enshrined ; the 
rose-colored veils of the Princess's own sump- 
tuous litter, at the front of which a fair young 
female slave sat fanning her through the curtains, 
with feathers of the Argus pheasant's wing ; and 
the lovely troop of Tartarian and Cashmerian 
maids of honor, whom the young King had sent 
to accompany his bride, and who rode on each 
side of the Htter, upon small Arabian horses ;— « 
all was brilliant, tasteful, and magnificent, and 
pleased even the critical and fastidious Fadla- 



LALLA ROOB.H. 

BEEN, Great N-azir or Chamberlai, of ihe Haram, 
who was borne in his palankeen immediately af- 
ter the Princess, and considered himself not the 
least important personage of the pageant. 

Fadladeen was a judge of every thing, from 
the penciUing of a Circassian's eye-lids to the 
deepest questions of science and hterature ; from 
the mixture of a conserve of rose leaves to the 
composition of an epic poem ; and such influence 
had his opinion upon the various tastes of the 
day, that all the cooks and poets of Delhi stood 
in awe of him. His political conduct and opi- 
nions were founded upon that line of Sadi, "Should 
the Prince at noon-day say, it is night, declare 
that you behold the moon and stars." And his 
zeal for religion, of which Aurungzebe was a mu- 
nificent protector, was about as disinterested aa 
that of the goldsmith who fell in love with the 
diamond eyes of the idol of Jaghernaut. 

During the first days of their journey, Lalla 
RooKH, who had passed all her life within the 
shadow of the Royal Gardens of Delhi, found 
enough in the beauty of the scenery through 
which they passed to interest her mind and de- 
hght her imagination ; and, when at evening, or 
in the heat of the day, they turned off from the 
high road to those retired and romantic places 
which had been selected for her encampments, 
sometimes on the banks of a small rivulet, aa 
clear as the waters of the Lake of Pearl ; some 



AN ORIENTAL ROMANCE. » 

times under the sacred shades of a banyan h'le^ 
from which the view opened upon a gUide covered 
with antelopes; and often in those hidden, em- 
bowered spots, described by one from the Isles oi 
the West, as, "places of melancholy, delight, 
and safety, where all the company a'-ound was 
wild peacocks and turtle-doves;" — she felt a 
charm in these scenes, so lovely and so new to 
her, which, for a time, made her indifferent to 
every other amusement. But Lalla Rookh 
was young, and the young love variety ; nor 
could the conversation of her ladies and the great 
Chamberlain, Fadladeen, (the only persons, of 
course, admitted to her pavihon,) sufficiently en 
liven those many ^;a.cant hours, which were de- 
voted neither to the pillow nor the palankeen. 
There was a little Persian slave who sung sweet- 
ly to the Vina, and who now and then lulled the 
Princess to sleep with the ancient ditties of her 
country, about the loves of Wamak and Ezra, 
the fair haired Zal and his mistress Rodahver ; 
not forgetting the combat of Rustam with the 
terrible White Demon. At other times she was 
am.used by those graceful dancing girls of Delhi, 
who ha^ been permitted by the Bramins of the 
Great Pagoda to attend her, much to the horror 
of the good Mussulman Fadladeen, who could 
see nothing graceful or agreeable in idolateis, 
and to whom the very tinkhng of their golden 
anklets was an Hbomination. 



*fl LA jLA R^OKH. 

But these and many other diversions were re« 
peated till they lost all their charm, and the nighta 
and noon-days were beginning to move heavily, 
when at length, it w^as recollected that, among 
the attendants sent by the bridegroom was a 
young poet of Cashmere, much celebrated 
throughout the Valley for his manner of reciting 
the Stories of the East, on whom liis Royal 
Master had conferred the privilege of being ad- 
mitted to th^ pavilion of the Princess, that he 
might help to beguile the tediousness of the jour- 
ney by some of his most agreeable recitals. At 
the mention of a poet Fadladeen elevated his 
critical eye-brows, and, having refreshed hia 
faculties with a dose of that delicious opium, 
which is distilled from the black poppy of the 
Thebais, gave orders for the minstrel vo befortk 
with introduced into the presence. 

The Princess, who had once in her life seen 
a poet from behind the screens of gauze in her 
father's hall, and had conceived from that speci- 
men no very favorable ideas of the Cast, expected 
but httle in this new exhibition to interest her; — 
she felt inclined however to alter her opinion on 
the very first appearance of Feramorz. Ha 
was a youth about Lalla Rookh's own age, 
and graceful as that idol of women, Crishna,*— 
Buch as he appears to their young imaginations, 

* The Indian Apollo. 



AN CRIENTAL KOMANCE. 1^ 

leroic, beautiful, breathing music from his very 
;yes, and exahing the rehgion of his worshippers 
nto love. His dress was simple, yet not M'lth- 
Dut some marks of costliness ; and the Ladies ot 
rhe Princess were not long in discovermg that 
the cloth, which encircled his high Tartarian cap, 
was of the most dehcate kind that the shawl- 
o-oats of Tibbet supply. Here and there, too, 
over his vest, which was confined by a flowered 
oirdle of Kashan, hung strings of fine pearl, dis- 
nosed with an air of studied neghgence ;--nor 
'lid the exquisite embroidery of his sandals es- 
r ape the observation of these fair critics; who, 
'lowever they might give way to Fadladeen 
,ipon the ummportant topics of rehgion and gov- 
.a-nment, had the spirits of martyrs m every 
hing relating to such momentuous matters as 
ewels and embroidery. 

" For the purpose of rehevmg the pauses of 
lecitation by music, the young Cashmenan held 
in his hand a kitar;— such as, in old nmes, the 
Arab maids of the West used to hsten to by 
moonlight in the gardens of the Alhambra-and 
havin^r premised, with much humility that the 
story he was about to relate was founded on the 
adventures of that Veiled Prophet of Khorassan 
who. in the year of the Hegira 163, created such 
alarm throughout the Eastern empire, made as 
obeisance to the Princess, and thus began :— 



THE VEILLD PROPHET 

OF 

KHORASSAN.* 



In that delightful Province of the Sun, 
The first of Persian lands he shines upon, 
Where, all the loveliest children of his beam, 
Plowrets and fruits blush over every stream, 
\nd, fairest of all streams, the Mur.rxA roves, 
Vmong MEROu'st bright palaces and g-oves ;— 
rhere. on that throne, to which the blmd beliel 
Of milUons rais'd him, sat the Prophet -Chief, 
The Great Mokanna. O'er his features hung 
The Veil, the Silver Veil, which he had flung 
In mercy there, to hide from mortal sight 
His dazzling brow, till man could bear its light. 
For, far less luminous, his votaries said 
Were ev'n the gleams, miraculously shed 
O'er MoussA'st cheek, when down the mount 

he trod. 
All glowing from the presence of his God ! 

♦ Khoraasan signifies, in the old Persian language, Pro 
ince, or region oT the Bun.--- Sir W. Jtmes. 
tOne of the Royil Citiea o*" Khorassan. 
J Moaes. 



l4 IHE VRILED PKOPHET OF KHORASSaJJ. 

On either side, wqth ready hearts and hands, 
His chosen guard of bold Believers stands ; 
Young fire-eyed disputants, who deem their 

swords. 
On points of faith, more eloquent than words ; 
And such their zeal, there's not a yDuth wi^h 

brand 
Uplifted there, but, at the Chief's command, 
Would make his own devoted heart its sheath, 
And bless the hps that doom'd so dear a death ! 
In hatred to the Caliph's hue of night,* 
Their vesture, helms and all, is snowy white; 
Their weapons various ; — some, equipp'd for 

speed. 
With javelins of the light Kathaian reed ; 
Or bows of Buffalo horn, and shining quivers 
Fill'd with the stemst that bloom on Iran's rivers; 
While some, for war's more terrible attacks, 
Wield the huge mace and ponderous battle-axe ; 
And, as they wave aloft in morning's beam 
The milk-white plumage of their helms, they 

seem 
Like a chenar-tree grove, when Winter throws 
O'er all its tufted heads liis feathering snows. 

Between the porphyry pillars, that uphold 

* Black wafl the color adopted by the Caliphs of tht 
House of Abbas, in their garmenls, turbans and stand 
ards. 

••■ Piijhula, used inciently 'jot arrows by the :* 



I 

I 

THt VEILED PKOPHET OF ^HORASSAN. 15 

rich moresque-work of the roof of gold, 
loft the Haram's curtain' d galleries rise, 
here, through the silken net- work, glancing 

eyes, 
[■i'rom time to time, like sudden gleams that glow 
hrough autumn clouds, shine o'er the pomp 

below : — 
iVhat impious tongue, ye blushing saints, would 

dare 
To hint that aught but Heav'n hath plac'd you 

there ? 
3r that the loves of this light world could bind 
'.n their gross chain, your prophet's soaring 
! mind! 
>J^o — wrongful thought ! — commissioned from 

above 
Fo people Eden's bowers with shapes of love, 
Creatures so bright, that the same lips and eyes 
rhey wear on earth will serve in Paradise) 
fhere to recline among Heav'n' s native maids, 
\nd crown th' Elect with bliss that never fades ! 
Well hath the Prophet- Chief his bidding done, 
\nd every beauteous race beneath the sun. 
Prom those who kneel at Brahma's burning 

founts,* 
To the fres'i nymphs bounding o'er Yemen's 

mounts ; 



* The burning fountains of Brahma near Chittogong, 
wteemed as holy.---I^r7i*r. 



16 THE VEILED PROPHET OF KH0RAS:5AW 

From Persia's eyes of full and fawn-like ray, 
To the small, half-shut glances of Kathay ,* 
A.nd Georgia's bloom and Azab's darker smiles 
And the gold ringlets of the Western Isles ; 
All, all are there ;— each land its flower hath 

given. 
To form that fair young Nursery for Heaven ! 

But why this pageant now ? this armed array ? 
What triumph crowds the rich Divan to-day 
With turban'd heads, of every hue and race, 
Bowing before that veil'd and awful face, 
Like tuli i-beds, of different shapes and dyes. 
Bending beneath th' invisible West- wind's sighs! 
What new-made mystery now, for Faith to sign, 
And blood to seal, as genuine and divine, — 
What dazzling mimicry of God's own power 
Hath the bold Prophet plann'd to grace this 

hour ? 
Not such the pageant now, though not less 

proud, — 
Yon warrior youth, advancing from the crowd, 
With silver bow, ynth. belt of broider'd crape, 
And fur-bound bonnet of Bucharian shape, ; 

So fiercely beautiful in form and eye. 
Like wai-'s v^ald planet in a summer's sky ; — 
That youih to-day, — a proselyte, worth nctdea 
Of eooler spirits, and less practia'd swords,— 

» China. 



THE VElLEh PROPKET tt EflORASSAN. \1 

Is come to join, all bravery and belief, 

The creed and standard of tho heav'n sent Chief. 

Though few his years, the West already knows 
Young Azim's fame; — beyond th' Olympian 

snow^s, 
Ere manhood darken' d o'er his downy cheek, 
O'erwhelmed in fight and captive to the Greek,* 
He linger'd there till peace dissolv'd his chains; 
Oh I who could, ev'n in bondage, tread the 

plains 
Of glorious Greece, nor feel his spirit rise 
Kindling within him ? who, with heart and eye&. 
Could walk where liberty had been, nor see 
The shining foot-prints of her Deity, 
Nor feel those god-hke breathings in the air 
Which mutely told her spirit had been there ? 
Not he, that youthful warrior, — no, too well 
For his soul's quiet work'd the awakening spell; 
And now, returning to his own dear land, 
Full of those dreams of good, that, vainly grand; . 
Haunt the young heart ; — proud views of humane- 
kind, 
Of men to gods exalted and refin'd ; — 
False views, like that horizon's fair deceit, 
Where earth and heav'n but seem, alas, Mor 
meet ! — 



♦ In*thewar of the Csliph Mahadi against tl.eEmprew 
{ttVfi : fo» «n acccunt of which, see Gibbon, vcl. x. 



18 THE VEn.ED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN, 

Soon as he heard an Arm Divine was rais'd 
To right the nations, and beheld, emblaz'd 
On the white flag Mokanna's host unfurl'd, 
Those words of sunshine, "Freedom to tho 

World," 
At once his faith, his sword, his soul obey'd 
Th' inspiring summons ; every chosen blade, 
That fought beneath that banner's sacred text, 
Seem'd doubly edg'd, for this world, and the 

next; 
And ne'er did Faith with her smooth bandage 

bind 
Eyes more devoutly willing to be blind. 
In virtue's cause ;— never was soul inspir'd 
With hvelier trust in what it most desir'd, 
Than his, th' enthusiast there, Avho, kneeling, 

pale 
With pious awe, before that Silver Veil, 
Believes the form, to which he bends his knee,. 
Some pure, redeeming angel, sent to free 
This fetter'd world from every bond and stain, 
And bring its primal glories back again ' 

Low as young Azim knelt, that motley ciowj 
Of all earth's nations sunk the knee and bow'd, 
With shouts of "Alla!" echoing long and 

loud ; 
While high in air, above the Prophet's head, 
Hundreds of banners, to the sunbeam spread, 
Wav'd, like the wings of the white birds that fa* 
The flying throne of ptar-taught Soltman ' 



THE VEILED /ROPHET OF KHORASSAJJ. 19 

Then thus he spoke , — " Stranger, though new 

the frame 
Thy soul inhabits now, I've track'd its flame 
For many an age,* in every chance and change 
Of that existence, through whose varied range, 
As through a torch-race, where, from hand to 

hand, 
The flying youths transmit their shining brand, 
From frame to frame the unextinguish'd soul 
Rapidly passes, till it reach the goal ! 

" Nor think 'tis only the gross Spirits, warm'd 
With duskier fire and for earth's medium form'd 
That run this course ; — Beings, the most divine. 
Thus deign through dark mortality to shine. 
Such was the essence that in Adam dwelt, 
To which all Heav'n, except the Proud One 

knelt ; t 
Such the refined intelligence that glow'd 
In Moussa's frame ; — and, thence descending, 

flow'd 
Through many a prophet's breast ; — in IssAt 

shone, 
And in Mohammed burned ; till, hastening on, 
(As a bright liver that, from fall to fall 



* Tlie transmigration of aouls was one of his doctrines 
See D'Herbeloi. 

t " And when we suid unto the AngeiS, "Worship Adam. 
they all worshipped him exceji t Ebl.«, (I.ucifei,) who r» 
fused. "•••27i« Koran, chap, ii 

iJesus. 



20 THE Vni^l;!) FEOPllET OF KIIORASSA?^. 

In many a maze descendmg, bright througn all. 
Finds some fair region where, each labyrinth past, 
In one full lake of light it rests at last !) 
That Holy Sphit, setthng calm and free 
From lapse or shadow, centres all in me !" 

Again, throughout th' assembly at these words, 
Thousands of voices rung ; the warrior's sworda 
Were pointed up to heav'n; a sudden wind 
In th' open banners play'd, and from, behind 
Those Persian hangings, that but ill could screen 
The Haram's loveliness, white hands were seen 
Waving embroider'd scarves, whose motion gave 
A perfume forth ; — hke those the Houris wave 
When beckoning id their bowers th' Immortal 
Brave. 

•'But these," pursued the Chief, "are truths 

sublime. 
That claim a holier mood and calmer time 
Than earth allows us now ; — this sword must 

first 
The darkling prison-house of mankind burst. 
Ere Peace can visit them, or Truth let in 
Her weakening day-light in a world of sin ! 
But then, celestial warriors, then, when all 
Earth's shrhies and thrones before our banner fall ; 
When the glad slave shalhit these feet lay dowc 
Ilis broken chain, the tyrant lord his crown. 
The priest his book, the conqueror his wreath, 
And from the lips of Truth one mighty breath 



THE VKILEU FKUPHET OF KHORASSAW. 21 

Shall, like a whirlwind, scatter in its breeze 
That whole dark pile of human mockeries ; — 
Then shall the reign of Mind commence on earth. 
And starting fresh as from a second birth, 
Man, in the sunsliine of the world's new spring, 
Shall walk transparent, like some holy thing ' 
Then, too, your Prophet from his angel brow 
Shall cast the veil that hides its splendors now. 
And gladden'd Earth shall, through her wide 

expanse, 
Bask in the glories of this countenance ! 
For thee, young warrior, welcome ! — thou has yet 
Some task to learn, some frailties to forget. 
Ere the white war-plume o'er thy brow can 

wave ; — 
But, once my own, mine all till in the grave !" 
The pomp is at an end — the crowds are gone — 
Each ear and heart still haunted by the tone 
Of that deep voice, which thrill'd like Alla's 

owu 
The young all dazzled by the plumes and lances, 
The glittering throne, and Haram's half-caught 

glances ; 
The 0I4 deep pondering on the promis'd reign 
Of peace and truth ; and all the female train 
Ready to risk their eyes, could they but gaze 
A moment on that brow's miraculous blaze ! 

But there was one among the chosen maids 
Who blushed behind the g;allery'8 silken 
shades, — 



22 THE VEILED PROPHE-J OF KHORASSiJT. 

One to whose soul the pageant of to-day 

Has been hke death ; — you saw her pale dismay 

Ye wondering sisterhood, and heard the bursi 

Of exclamation from her Ups, when first 

She saw that youth, too well, too dearly known 

Silently kneeling at the Prophet's throne. 

Ah Zelica ! there was a time, when bliss 
Shone o'er thy heart from every look of his ; 
When but to see him, hear him, breath the air 
In which he dwelt, was thy soul's fondest prayer ' 
When round him hung such a perpetual spell, 
Whate'er he did, none ever did so well. 
Too happy days I when, if he touch'd a flower 
Or gem of thine, 'twas sacred from that hour; 
When thou didst study him, till every tone. 
And gesture, and dear look, became thy own,~ 
Thy voice like his, the changes of his face 
In thine reflected with still lovelier grace, 
Like echo, sending back sweet music, fraught 
With twice th' aerial sweetness it had brought ! 
Yet now he comes — brighter than even he 
E'er beam'd before, — ^but ah ! not bright for thee; 
No — dread, unlook'd for, hke a visitant • 
From th' other world, he comes as if to haunt 
Thy guilty soul wit'n dreams of lost delight. 
Long lost to all but memory's aching sight :— 
Slid dreams ! as when the Spirit of our Youth 
Returns in sleep, sparkhng with all the truth 
And innocence once ours, and leads us back. 
In mournful mockery, o'er the shining tra.-".k 



! THE VEILED PROPHEf. OF KHOR 6.SS*.f . 23 

Of our young life, and points out every ray 
Of hope and peace we've lost upon the way ! 

Once happy pair ! — in proud Bokhara's 

groves, 
Who had not heard of their first youthful loves ? 
Born by that ancient flood,* which from ita 

spring 
In the dark mountains swiftly wandering, 
Enrich'd by every pilgrim brook that shines 
With relics from Bucharia's ruby mines, 
And lending to the Caspian half its strength, 
In the cold Lake of Eagles sinks at length ;— 
There, on the banks of that bright river born. 
The flowers, that hung above its wave at morn, 
Bless'd not the waters, as they murmur'd by 
With holier scent and lustre, than the sigh 
And virgin glance of first affection cast 
Upon their youth's smooth current, as it pass'd I 
But war disturbed this vision — far away 
From her fond eyes summon' d to join th' array 
Of Persia's warriors on the hills of Thrace, 
The youth exchanged his sylvan dwelling place 
For the rude tent and war-field's deathful clash ; 
His Zelica's sweet glances for the flash 
Of Grecian vdld-fire,-— and love's gentU chain? 
For bleeding bondage on Byzantium's ,>lains. 

♦ The Amoo, which rises near the Belur Tag, or Dark 
Mountaing, and running neail.y from easi to west, spliti 
Into two branches, one of which falls i^ito ihe Caspian 
tea, and tlie other into Aral Nahr, or Ihe Lake of Eagles. 



&i THE VEILED PKOfHET OF KlIORASSA-t. 

Month after month, in widowhood of soul 
Drooping, the maiden saw two summers roll 
Their suns away — but, ah ! how cold and dim 
iEv'n summer suns when not beheld with him '. 
J'rom time to time, ill-omen'd rumors came, 
'(Like spirit tongues, muttering the sick man's 

name. 
Just ere he dies,)— at leng n those sounds oi 

dread 
Fell withering on her soul, " Azik is dead !" 
Of grief, beyond all other griefs, when fate 
First leaves the young heart lone and desolate 
In the wide world, without that only tie 
For which it lov'd to live or fear'd to die ; — 
Lorn as the hung-up lute, that ne'er hath spoken; 
Since the day its master-chord was broken ! 

Fond maid, the sorrow of her soul was such, 
Ev'n reason blighted sunk beneath its touch ; 
And though, ere long, her sanguine spirit rose 
Above the first dead pressure of its woes. 
Though health and bloom returned, the delicat* 

chain 
Of thought, once tangle i, never clear'd again. 
Warm, lively, soft as in youth's happiest day, 
The mind was still all there but turned astrr-y. 
A wandering bark, upon whose pathway shone 
All stars of heav'n except the guiding one ! 
Again she smil'd, nay, much and brightly smil'd, 
But 'twas a lustre, strange, unreal, wild ; 
And when she sung to her lute's touchii;g slrairv 



THE VEILEU mOPHEl OF ElIOKASSAN. 25 

Twas like the noes, half extacy, naif pain, 
Xhejjuhjul* utters, ere her soul depart, 
When vanquish' d by some minstrel's nowerfu] 

art. 
She dies upon the lute whose sweetness broke 

her heart ! 
Such was the mood in which that mission found 
Young Zelica, — that mission, which around 
The Eastern world, in every region blest 
With woman's smile, sought out its loveliest, 
To grace that galaxy of lips and eyes, 
Which the Veiled Prophet destined for the skies ! 
And such quick welcome as a spark receives 
Dropp'd on a bed of Autumn's wither'd leaves, 
Did every tale of these enthusiasts find 
In the wild maiden's sorrow-blighted mind. 
All fire at once the madd'ning zeal she caught ;— 
Elect of Paradise ! blest, rapturous thought ; 
Predestin'd bride, in heaven's eternal dome, 
Of some brave youth — ha! durst they say " o! 

someV 
No — of the one, one only object trac'd 
In her heart's core too deep to be efiac'd ; 
The one whose memory, fresh as hfe, is twin'd 
With ev'ry broken Unk of her lost miivd ; 
Whose image Uves, though Reason's self bsi 

wreck'd, 
Safe 'mid tho ruins of her intellect \ 



►Ihe Nightingale 



26 THE- VEIjjKO PllOrHET UB RHOKASSaW. 

Alas, poor Zelica ! it needed all 
The fantasy, "whichiield thy mind in thrah, 
Tc see in that gay Haram's glowing maids 
A sainted colony for Eden's shades ; 
Or dream that he, of whos* unholy flame 
Thou wert too soon the victim, — shining came 
From Paradise, to people its pure sphere 
With souls like thine, whichhe hath ruin'd here ' 
No — had not Reason's light totally set. 
And left thee dark, thou had'st an amulet 
fn the lov'd image, graven on thy heart. 
Which vi'ould have sav'd thee from the tempter's 

art, 
And kept alive, in all its bloom of breath, 
That purity, whose fading is love's death ! — 
But lost, inflam'd — a restless zeal took place 
Of the mild virgin's still and feminine grace ;— 
First of the Prophet's favorites, proudly first 
In zeal and charms, — too well th' Impostoi 

nurs'd 
Her soul's deUrium, in whose aotive frame, 
Thus lighting up a young, luxuriant flame, 
He saw more potent sorceries to bind 
To his dark yoke the spirits of mankind. 
More subtle chains than hell itself e'er twin'd. 
No art was spared, no witchery ; — all the skill 
His demons taught him was employed to fill 
Her mind v^ith gloom and cxtacy by turns — 
That gloom, through which frenzy but fiercei 

burns ; 
That extacy, wh'cV from the deptha of sadnesf 



THE VEILED PKOfHcT OF KHURASSA.N. 27 

5Iares like the maniac's moon, whose light is 
madness ! 

"Twas from a brilliant banquet, where the 

sound 
)f poesy and music breath'd around, 
ogether picturing to her mind and ear 
The glories of that heav'n, her destin'd sphere, 
iVhere all was pure, where every stain that lay 
Jpon the spirit's light should pass away, 
^nd realizing more than youthful love 
Car wish'd or dream'd, she should forever rove 
Through fields of fragrance by her Azim's side, 
lis own bless'd, purified, eternal Bride ! — " 
Twas from a scene, a witching trance Ukethis, 
ie hurried her away, yet breathing bliss, 
To the dim charnel-house; — through all its 

steams 

)f damp and death, led only by those gleams 
[iVhich foul corruption lights, as with design 
Co show the gay and proud she too can shine !— 
\nd, passing on through upright ranks of dead, 
Vhich to the maiden, doubly craz(!d by dread, 
seem'd through the bluish deatli-hght round 

them cast, 
fo move their lips in mutterings as she p>ass'd— « 
rhere, in that awful place, when each had quafTd 
Ind pledged in silence such a fearful draught, 
such, — oh ! the look and taste of that red bowl 
rVill haunt her till she dies — he bound her soul 
Jy a dark oatth, in hell's own language fram'd 



23 THE VEILED PROPHEr OF KU DRASSAN. 

Never, while earth his mystic presence claim'd 
While the blue arch of day hung o'er them both. 
Never, by that all-imprecating oath, i! 

In joy or sorrow from his side to sever. — 
She swore, and the wide charnel echoed, "Never, 
never !" 

From that dread hour, entirely wildly given 
To him and — she believ'd, lost maid!— ♦o J 

Heaven ; 
Her brain, her heart, her passions all inflam'd, 
How proud she stood, when in full Haram 

nam'd 
The Priestess of the Faith! — how flash'd hen 

eyes 
With light, alas ! that was not of the skies, ] 
When round, in trances only less than hers. 
She saw the Haram kneel, her prostrate wor- 
shippers : 
Well might Mokanna think that form alone 
Had spells enough to make t^e world his own : 
Light, lovely Umbs, to which the spirit's play 
Gave motion, airy as the dancing spray. 
When from its stem the small bird wings away \ 
Lips in whose rosy labyrinth, when she smil'd, 
The soul was lost ; and blushes, swift and wild [ 
As are the momentary meteors sent 
Across th' uncalm, but beauteors firmament. 
And then her look — oh! where'g the heart aal 

wise, 
IJould unbewildored mef,t those matchless eyea f 



TII£ VEILED PKOFHE'I OF K1I0R\SSAN 29 

iuick, restless, strange, but exquisite withal, 
jike those of angels, just before their fall ; 
■fow shadow' d with the shames of earth — how 

crost 

}y glimpses of the heaven her heart had lost ; 
n every glance there broke without control. 
The flashes of a bright but troubled soul, 
Vhere sensibility still \7ildly play'd, 
jike Hghtmng, round the ruins it had made ! 

And such was now young Zelica— so 

chang'd 
i'om her who, some years since, delightec? 

rang'd 
'he almond groves, that shade Bokhaka's tide, 
k.11 life and bliss, with Azim by her side ! 
?o alter' d was she now, this festal day, 
Vhen, 'mid the proud Divan's dazzhng array, 
The vision of that youth, whom she had lov'd, 
Ind wept as dead, before her breath' d and 

mov'd ; — 
Vhen — bright, she thought as if from Eden's 

track 

?ut half-way trodden, he had wander'd back 
'igain to earth, glistening with Eden's light— 
ler beauteous Azim shone before her sight. 

Oh Reason ! who shall say what spells renew 
Vhen least we look for it, thy broken clew ! 
Through what small vistas o'er the darken' 3 
brain 



so THE VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAIT. 

Thy intellectual day-beam bursts again ; 
And how, like forts, to which bcleaguerer;* wini 
Unhop'd for entrance through some friend withini 
One clear idea waken'd in the breast 
By memory's magic lets in all the rest'. 
Would it were thus, unhappy girl, with thee ' 
But, though light came, it came but partially; 
Enough to show the maze, in which thy sense.: 
Wander'd about, — but not to guide it thence ; 
Enough to glimmer o'er the yawning wave. 
But not to point the harbor which might save. 
Hours of delight and peace, long left behind. 
With that dear form came rushing o'er her mind 
But oh ! to think how deep her soul had gone 
In shame and falsehood since those moment 

shone ; 

And, then, her oath ! — there madness lay again 
And, shuddering, back she sunk into her chain 
Of mental darkness, as if blest to flee 
From light whose every gUmpse was agony ! 
Yet, one rehef this glance of former years 
Brought, mingled with its pain — tears, flooo 

of tears. 
Long frozen at her heart, but now hke rills 
Let loose m spring time from the snowy hills, 
And gushing warm after.a sleep of frost. 
Through valleys where their flow had long bee 

lost! 

Sad and subdued, for tl-3 first time her trair 
Trembled with hen or, when the summons canr 



THE VEILED PKOPHET OF KHORASSAN, 31 

.A summons proud and rare, which all bat she. 
And she till now, had heard with extacy,) 
To meet Mokanna at his place of prayer, 
A garden oratory, cool and fair. 
By the stream's side, where still at close oi day 
The Prophet of the Veil retir'd to pray; 
Sonietimes alone, but, oftener tar, with one, 
One chosen nymph to share his orison. 

Of late none found such favor in his sight 
As the young Priestess ; and though, since thai 

night 
When the death'caverns echoed every tone 
Of the dire oath that made her all his own, 
Th' Impostor, sure of his infatuate prize. 
Had, more than once, thrown off his soul's dis- 
guise. 
And utter'd such unheav'niy, monstrous things, 
As ev'n across the desperate wanderings 
Of a weak intellect, whose lamp was out. 
Threw startling shadows of dismay and doubt ; 
Yet, zeal, ambition, her tremendous vow, 
The thought, still haunting her, of that bright 

brow 
Whose blaze, zs yet from mortal eye conceal'd, 
Would soon, pioud triumph ! be to her reveaPd, 
To her alone ; and theM the hope most dear. 
Most wild of all that her transgressions here 
Was but apassige through earth's grosser fire, 
From which the. spirit would at last aspire, 
Ev'n purer than before, as perfumes rise 



32 THE VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAW. 

Through flame and smoke, most v/elcome to the 

skies — 
And that when Azim's fond, divine embrace 
Should circle her in heav'n, no darkening trace 
Would on that bosom he once lov'd remain, 
But all be bright, be pure, be his again ! — 
These were the wildering dreams, whose curst 

deceit 
Had chain' d her soul beneath the tempter's feet, 
And made her think ev'n damning falsehood 

sweet. 
But now that shape which had appall' d hel 

view, 
That Semblance — oh how terrible, if true 1 — 
Which came across her frenzy's full career 
With shock of consciousness, cold, deep, seveie. 
As when in northern seas, at midnight dark, 
An isle of ice encounters some swift bark, 
And, startling all its wretches from their sleep, 
By one cold impulse hurls them to the deep ;— 
So came that shock not frenzy's self could bear 
And waking up each long, luU'd image there, 
But check' d her headlong soul, to sink it ir 

despair ! 

Wan and dejected, through the evening dusk 
She now went slowly to that small kiosk, 
Wherf-, pondering alone his impious schemes, 
MoKAJVNA waited her — too wrapt in dreams 
Of the fair-ripening future's rich success. 
To heed the sorrow, pale and spiritless' 



THE VEILED TKOPHET OF KHORASSAN. 33 

That sat upon his victim's downcast brow, 
Or mark how slow her step, how aUer'd now 
From the quick, ardent, Priestess, whose Ugh. 

bound 
Came Uke a spirit o'er the unechoing ground,— 
From that wild Zelica, whose every glance 
Was thrilUng fire, whose every thought a trance ' 

Upon his couch the veiled MoE:ANNA*lay, 
While lamps around — not such as lend their ray 
GHmmering and cold, to those who nightly pray 
In holy KooiM,* or Mecca's dim arcades, — 
But brilhant, soft, such light as lovely maids 
Look loveliest in, shed their luxurious glow 
Upon his mystic Veil's white gUttering flow. 
Beside him, 'stead of beads and books of prayer 
Which the world fondly thought he mused on 

there, 
Stood vases, fill'd with KiSHMEE'st golden wiiie, 
And the red weepings of the Shiraz vine ; 
Of which his curtain' d lips full many a draught 
Took zealously, as if each drop they quafTd, 
Like Zemzem's Spnng of Holiness^ had power 
To freshen the soul's virtues kito flower ! 



* The irUies of Com [nr Kn;^m] and Cash an are full of 
nnosques, mausoleums, and sepulchres of the dessendanta 
of Al\, tPa Saints of Persia .•■- (Tkardin. 

t An island in the Persian Grulf, celebrated for its wliite 
irine. 

{ The miraculous well at Mecca ; so called, Bays Sale, 
Tom lh» murmuring of i'a valera. 
'i 



54 THE VEILED PROPHET OF KIICRASSAN. 

And still he drank and ponder' d — nor could see 

Th' approaching maid so deep his reverie ; 

At length, with fiendish laugh, like that which 

broke 
From Eblis at the Fall of Man, he spoke : — 
" Yes, ye vile race, for hell's amusement given. 
Too mean for earth, yet claiming kin whh heaven • 
God's images, forsooth ! — such gods as he 
Whom India serves, the monkey deity ;*^ 
Ye creatures of a breath, proud thmgs of clay, 
To whom, if Lucifer, as grandams say, 
Refus'd, though at the forfeit of Heaven's light 
To bend in worship, Lucifer was right ! — 
Soon shall I plant this foot upon the neck 
Of j'^our foul race, and without fear or check, 
Luxuriating in hate, avenge my shame, 
My deep-felt, long-nurst loathing of man's name. 
Soon, at the head of myriads, blind and fierce 
As hooded falcons, through the universe 
I'll sweep my darkening, desolating way, 
Weak man my instrument, curst man my prey ! 

"Ye M-ise, ye learned, who grope your daL 

way on 
By the dim twinkling gleams of ages gone, 
Like superstitious thieves, who think the Hght 
From dead men's marrow guides them best at 

nightt — 



•The god of Hannaraan . 

t A kind of lantern fomnerlj UFed by robbers, tailed th 



THE VEILED PROPHET CJ KflORASSAN. 35 

Ye shall have honors — wealtn, — yes. sages, yes, 
I know, grave fools, your wisdom's nothingness ; 
Undazzled it can track yon starry sphere, 
But a gilt stick, a bauble blinds it here. 
How I shall laugh when trumpeted aloag, 
In lying speech and still more lying song, 
By these learn'd slaves, the meanest of the throng; 
Their wits bought up, their wisdom shrunk so 

small, 
A sceptre's puny point can wield it all ! 

" Ye too, believers of incredible creeds, 
Whose faith enshrines the monsters which n 

breeds ; 
Who, bolder ev'n than Nemrod, think to rise 
By nonsense heap'd on nonsense to the skies ; 
Ye shall have miracles, ay, sound ones too. 
Seen, heard, attested, every thing — but true. 
Your preaching zealots, too inspired to seek 
One grace of meaning for the things tney speak ; 
Your martyrs, ready to shed out their blood 
For truths too heavenly to be understood ; 
And your state priests, sole venders of the lore 
That works salvation; — as on Ava's shore, 
Where none but priests are privileg'd to trade 
"n that best marble of which gods are made ;* 
They shall have mysteries— -ay, precious stviff 



Hand of Glory, the candle for which was made of the fet 
of a dead malefactor. This, however, was rather a West 
em than an Eastern superstiiion. 
♦ i^ymes^s Ava, vol ii p. ST6. 



36 THE VEILED PROPHET CF KH0RASSA3V. 

For knaves to thrive by — mysteries enough 
Dark, tangled doctrines, dark as fraud can weave 
iVhich simple votaries shall on trust receive. 
While craftier feign belief, till they beHeve. 
A Heav'n too ye must have, ye lords of dust,— 
A splendid Paradise — pure souls, ye must : 
That Prophet ill sustains his holy call, 
Who finds not heav'ns to suit the tastes of all; 
Kouris for boys, omniscience for sages, 
And wings and glories for all ranks and ages. 
Vain things ! — as lust or vanity inspires, 
The heaven of each is but what each desires, 
And, soul or sense, whate'er the object be, 
Man would be man to all eternity ! 
So let him— :E'blis_! grant this crowning curse, 
But keep him wHaf heis, no hell were worse."—" 

" Oh my lost soul !" exclaim'd the shuddering 
maid. 
Whose ears had drunk hke poison all he said,— 
MoKANNA Started — not abashed, afraid, — 
He knew no more of fear than one who dwells 
Beneath the tropics knows of icicles I 
But. in ihose dismal words that reach'd his ear, 
*' 0!j rv lost soul !" there was a sound so drear 
So iiRe that voice, among the sinful dead. 
In which the legend o'er Hell's gate is read ! 
That, new as 'twas from her, whom nought could 

dim 
Or sink till now, it startled even Ix n. 



THE VEILED PROPHET OF K.HORASSAN. 0~ 

"Ha, my fair Priestess!" thus, with tecay 

\^^le, 
Th' impostor turn' d to greet her — " thou whose 

smile 
Hath inspiration in its rosy beam 
Beyond th' enthusiast's hope or prophet's dream I 
Light of the Faith! who twin'st reUgion's zeal 
So close with love's, men know not which thev 

feel, 
Nor which to sigh for in their trance of heart, 
The Heav'n thou»preachest, or the Heav'ntho'j 

art! 
What should I be withoui thee ? without thco 
How dull were power, how joyless victory ! 
Though borne by angels, if that v-mxle of thine 
Bless'd not my banner, 'twere but half divine. 
But — why so mournful, child? those eyes, thai 

shone 
All life, last night — what ! is their glory gone ? 
Come, come — 'this monn's fatigue hath made them 

pale. 
They want rekindling — suns themselves would 

fail, 
Did not their comets bring, as I to thee, 
From Light's own foimt, supplies of briUiancy ! 
Thou seest this cup — 'no jaice of earth is here, 
But the pure waters of that upper sphere, 
Whose rills o'er ruby beds and topaz flow, 
Catching the gem's bright color, as they go. 
Nightly my Genii come and fill these urns — 
Nay, drnk — in every drop life's essence hwrm 



38 THE VEILED PROPHEl OP KwORAStAN. 

'Twill make that soul all fii o, those eyes all light- 
Come, come, I want thy Icveliest smiles to-night: 
There is a youth — why start ?— thou saw'st him 

then ; 
Look'd he not nobly? such the god-like men 
Thou' It have to woo thee in the bowers above ;— 
Though Ae, I fear, hath thoughts too stern for love, 
Too rul'd by that cold enemy of bliss 
The world calls Virtue — ^'e must conquer this— 
Nay shrink not, pretty sage ; 'lis not for thee 
To scan the mazes of Heav'n's mystery. 
The steel must pass through fire, ere it can yield 
Fit instruments for mighty hands to wield. 
This very night I mean to try the art 
Of powerful beauty on that warrior's heart. 
All that my Haram boasts of bloom and wit, 
Of skill and charms, most rare and exquisite, 
Shall tempt the boy; — young Mirzala's bine 

eyes, 
Whose sleepy lid like snow on violets lies ; 
A^rouya's cheeks, warm as a spring-day sun, 
And lips, that, hke the seal of Solomon, 
Have magic in their pressure ; Zeba's lute, 
And Lilla's dancing feet, that gleam and shoot, 
Rapid and white as sea-birds o'er the deep !— 
All shall combine their witching powers to steep 
My convert's spirit in that softening trance, 
From which tQ Heav'n is but the next advance ;— 
That glowing, yielding fusion of the breast, 
On wldch religion stamps her image beat. 



THE VEILED PROf iET OV KHORaSSAN. 39 

But hear me, Priestess though each nymph oi 

these 
Hath some peculiar practised power to please. 
Some glance or step, which, at the mirror tried, 
First charms herself, then all the world beside ; 
There still wants r-je to make the victory sure, 
One, who in every look joins every lure ; 
Through whojii all beauty's beams concenter'd 

pass. 
Dazzling and warm, as through love's burning 

glass ; 
Whose gentle lips persuade without a word, 
Whose words, ev'n when unmeaning, are ador'd, 
Like inarticulate breathings from a shrine. 
Which our fate takes for granted are divine ! 
Such is the nymph we want, all warmth and 

light. 
To crown the rich temptations of to-night ; 
Such the refined enchantress that must be 
This Hero's vanquisher, — and thou art she !'' 

With her hands clasp' d, her lips apart and pale, 
The maid had stood, gazing upon the Veil 
From whence these words, like south-winds 

through a fence 
Of Kerzrah flow'rs, came filled with pestilence :* 
So boldly utter'd too I as if all dread 
Of frowns from her, of virtuous frowns, were fled, 

♦ " It is commonly said in Persia, that if a man breathe 
in the hot sonlh-win'l, which in June or July passes ovei 
that flower, [the Kerzerah,] it *iil kill him."- -Thevawf, 



to THE VEILED PROPHET 05 KHOR^SSA.N. 

And the wretch feltassnr'd, that once pluHg'diiii 
Her woman's soul would know no pause in sin 

At first, thoughmute she listen'd, like a dream 
Seem'd all he said ; nor could her mind, whose 

beam 
As yet was weak, penetrate half his scheme. 
But when, at length, he utter'd " Thou art she !" 
Allflash'd at once, and, shrieking piteously, 
" Oh not for worlds !" she cried — 'Great Gcd . 

to whom 
I once knelt innocent, is this my doom ? 
Are all my dreams, my hopesof heavenly bli«a, 
My purity, my pride, then come tc this,- 
To live, the wanton of a fiend ! to be 
The pander of his guilt — oh, infamy ! 
And sunk, myself, as low as hell can steep 
In its hot flood, drag others down as deep ' 
Others ! — ha ! yes — that youth who came to-day : 
Not him I lov'd — not him — oh ! do but say, 
But swear to me this moment 'tis not he. 
And I will serve, dark fiend ! will worship, even 

thee!" 

"Beware, young ravmg thing! — in time be 
ware, 
Nor utter what J cannot, must not bear 
Ev'n from f/i// lips- Go- try thy lute, thy voice; 
The boy must feel their magic — I rejoice 
To see those fires, no matter whence they rise. 
Once more illuming my fair Priestese' eyes • 



TEE VEILED PKOPHET OF KHOKASSAN. tl 

\nd should the youth, whom soon those eyes 

shall warm, 
Indeed resemble thy dead lover's form, 
So much the happier wilt thou find thy doom, 
As one warm lover, full of life and bloom, 
Excels ten thousand cold ones in the tomb. — 
Nay, nay, no frowning, sweet ! those eyes were 

made 
For love, not anger — I must be obey'd." 

*' Obey'd ! — 'tis well — yes, I deserve it all — 
On me, on me heaven's vengeance cannot fall 
Too heavily — but Azim, brave and true, 
And beautiful— must he be ruin'd too ? 
Must he too, glorious as he is, be driven 
A renegade like me from Love and Heaven ? 
Like me? — weak wretch, I wrong him — not 

Hke me ; 
No — he's all truth, and strength, and purity! 
Fill up your madd'ning hell-cup to the brim. 
Its witchery fiends, will have no charm for him. 
Let loose your glowing wantons from their bowers. 
He loves, he loves, and can defy their powers ! 
Wretch as I am, in his heart still I reign 
Pure as when first we met v^dthout a stain ! 
Though ruin'd — lost — my memory, hke a charm 
Left by the dead, still keeps his soul from harm. 
Oh ! never let him know how deep the brow 
He kiss'd at parting is dishonor' d now — 
Ne'er tell him how debas'd, how sunk is she. 
Whomcnceholov'l -once! still loves doatingly 



42 THE VEILED PROPHET OF KHOHAS^AN. 

Thou laugh'st tormentor, — what ! — thoul'tbrand 

my name ? 
Do, do — in vain — he'll not believe my shame- 
He thinks me true, that nought beneath God's sky 
Could tempt or change me, and — so once 

thought I. 
But this is past — though worse than death my lot, 
Than hell — 'tis nothing, while he knows it not. 
Far off to some benighted land I'll fly, 
Where sunbeam ne'er shall enter till I die ; 
Where none will ask the lost one whence she came 
But I may fade and fall without a name ! 
And thou, — curst man or fiend, whate'er thou art 
Who found' St this burning plague-spot in my 

heart. 
And spread'st it — oh, so quick! — thro' soul and 

frame 
With more than demon's art, till I became 
A loathsome thing, all pestilence, all flame! 
If when I'm gone" 

" Hold, fearless maniac, hold, 
Nor tempt my rage — by heaven, not half so bold 
The puny bird that dares with teazing hum 
Within the crocodile's stretch' d jaws to come.*— 
And so thou' It fly, forsooth ? — what, give up al! 
Thy chaste dominions in the Haram hall, 



* The ancient glory concerning the Trochilus, or hunn- 
tning bird, entering wi'h impunity inio the month of th« 
trocodile, is firmlv believed at Java. ---Harrow'* Cochin' 
China. 



THE VEILED PROPHET 3F KHORASSaN. 43 

iVhere now to Love, and now to auji given, 
Jalf mistress and half saint, thou hang'st as even 
Is doth Medina's tomb, 'twixt hell and heaven ' 
^hou'It fly ? as easily may reptiles run, 
.^he gaunt snake once hath fix'd his eyes upon; 
i-S easily, when caught, the prey may be 
'luck'd from its loving folds, as thou from me. 
fo, no, 'tis fix'd — let good or ill betide, 
^hou'rt mine till death, till death Mokanna's 

bride ! 
fast thou forgot thy oath?" 

At this dread word 
""he m.aid, whose spirit his rude taunts had stirr'd 
""hrough all its depths, and rous'd an anger there, 
""hat burst and lighten'd ev'n through her des- 
pair ! — 
hrunk back, as if a blight were in the breath 
'hat spoke that word, and stagger' d pale as death. 

, " Yes, my sworn bride, let others seek in 

bowers 
fhe bridal place — the charnal vault was ours ! 
instead of scents and balms, for thee and me 
[lose the rich steams of sweet mortality ; — 
ray flickering death- lights shone while we were 

wed, 
Lnd for our guests, a row of goodly dead, 
immortal spirits in their time, no doubt,) 
'rom reeking shrouds, upon the rite look'd out! 
''hat oath thou heard'st more lips than thins 

repeat— 



4 THE VEILEt PROPHET OF KHOKASSAN. 

That cup — thou shudderest, lady — was it sweet i 
That cup we pledg'd, the charnal's choicest wine. 
Hath bound thee — ay — body and soul all mine ; 
Bound thee by chains, that, whether blest or curst 
No matter now, not hell itself shall burst! — 
Hence, woman, to the Haram, and look gay. 
Look wild, look — any thing but sad ; — yet stay — 
One moment more — from what this night hath 



I see that thou know'st me, know'st me well at ' 

last. 
Ha! ha! and so, fond thing, thou thought' st all 

true, 
And that I lov'd mankind ! — I do, I do — 
As victims, love them ; as the sea-dog doats 
Upon the small sweet fly that round him floats ; 
Or as the Nile- bird loves the sUme that gives 
That rank and venomous food on which she 

lives!* 
And, now thou see'st my souVs angelic hue, ' 
'Tis time those features were uncurtain'd too ; — i| 
This brow, whose Ught — oh, rare celestial Ught! 'i 
Hath been reserved, to bless thy favor'd sight ! * 
These dazzhng eyes, before whose shrouded l!| 

might, ■ I 

Thou' St seen immortal man kneel down and i\ 

quake — 

♦ Circum easdem ripaa [Ntli, viz.] ales est Ibia. E« 
serpenliurn populatur ova, grattissimanque ex his nidii 
e?eain suis refert.'--*Sj/inM«. 



THa VEILED PJ50PHE.' OF KIIORASSAN. 45 

/ould that they were Heaven's lightnings for hia 

sake ! 
ut turn and look — then wonder, if thou wilt, 
hat I should hate, should take revenge, by 
i guilt, 

j pen the hand, whose mischief or whose mirth 
i3nt me thus maim' d and monstrous upon earth ; 
nd on that race who, though more vile they be 
'han mowing apes, are demi-gods to me ! 
ere, judge, if Hell with all its power to damn, 
an add one curse to the foul thing I am !" 

He rais'd his veil — the maid turn'd slowly 

round , 
ook'd at him — shriek' d — and sunk upon the 

ground. 



0-V their arrival, next night, at the place ol 
icampment, they were surprised and delighted 
find the groves all round illuminated ; some 
tists of Yam toheou having been sent on pre- 
3usly for the purpose. On each side of the 
een_ alley which led to the Royal Pavilion 
tificial sceneries of bamboo-work were erected, 
presenting arches, minarets, and towers, from 
tiich hung thousands of silken lanterns, paint- 
by the most delicate pencils of Canton. No- 
ing could be more beautiful than the leaves ol 
e mango- trees and acacias, shining in the light 
the bamboo scenery, which shed a lustre 
and as soft as that of the nights of Peristan. 



46 TH-^. VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAfT. 

Lalla Rookh, however, who was too much 
occupied by the sad story of Zelica and her 
lover, to give a thought to any thing else, ex- 
cept, perhaps, him who related it, hurried on 
through this scene of splendor to her pavilion,-- 
greatly to the mortification of the poor artists of 
Yamtcheou,— and was followed with equal ra-j- 
pidity by the great Chamberlain, cursing, as he: 
went, that ancient Mandarin, whose parental 
anxiety in Ughting up the shores of the l^ke, 
where his beloved daughter had wandered and. 
been lost, was the origin of these fantastic Chi- 
nese illuminations. Without a moment's delay; 
young Feramorz was introduced, and Fadla- 
DFEN, who could never make up his mind as to* 
the merits of a poet, till he knew the religious 
sect to which he belonged, was about to ask him; 
whether he was a Shia or a Sooni, when Lalla^ 
RooKH impatiently clapped her hands for si-i 
lence, and the youth, being seated upon the mus-: 
nud near her, proceeded : — 

Prepare thy soul, young Azim ! thou hastbrav'd'i 1 
The bands of Greece, still mighty, though en 

slav'd ; -„ 

Hast fac'd her phalanx, arm'd with all its famei]l 
Her Macedonian pikes and globes of flame ; 
All this hast fronted, with firm heart and hvovr 
But a more perilous trial waits thee now, — 
Woman's bright eyes, 3 dazzhng host of eyes ^ 
From eva-y land wherff woman smiles or sighs .^ 



VHE VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 4" 

Of every hue as Love may chance to raise 
His black or azure banner in their blaze ; 
And each sweet mode of warfare, from the flash 
That hghtens boldly through the shadowy lash, 
To *he sly, stealing pplendors almost hid, 
Like swords half- sheath' d, beneath the downcast 

hd. 
?uch, AziM, is the lovely, luminous host 
Now led against thee ; and, let conquerors boasi 
rheir fields of fame, he who in virtue arms 
A young, warm spirit against beauty's charms 
Who feels her brightness, yet defies her thrall, 
(s the best, bravest conqueror of them all. 

Now, through the Haram chambers, moving 
lights 
And busy shapes proclaim the toilet's rites ;— 
.^rom room to room the ready handmaids hie, 
some skilled to wreath the turban tastefully, 
')t hang the veil, in negligence of shade, 
D'er the warm blushes of the youthful maid, 
iVho, if between the folds but one eye shone, 
uike Seba's Queen could vanquish with that 



one 



.*. 



■Vhile some bring leaves of Henna to imbue 
The fingers' ends whh a bright roseate hue,t 



* •' Thou hast rerished my haart with one of thine 
yes."— Sol. Sang. 

t *• They t'nged the ends of her finsers scarlet with 
lenna, eo thtit they resembled branches of cotixV-'-Sto- 
/ of Prince Futlam in Bahofdanush. 



48 



THE VEILED PROPHET OF KHCRASSAN. 



So bright that in the mirrors depth they seem 
Like tips of coral branches in the stream; 
And others mix the cohol's .letty dye, ^ 

To give that long, dark langmsh to the e>e, , 
Which makes the maids, whom lungs are proud . 

Frora°fSr Circassia's valea, so beautiful. 

All is in motion ; rings, plumes, and pearla 
Are shining every where ;--^o^^e younger girls i 
Are gone by moonlight to the g/^den beds, 
To gather fresh, cool chaplets for their heads ; 
Gay creatures! sweet, though mournful tistoseee 
How each prefers a garland from that tree 
Which brings to mind her childhood's innocent^. 

And A^e' dear fields and friendships far away. 
The maid of India, ble.t again to hold 
In her full lap the Champac's leaves of gold,t 
ThSs of the time when by the Ganges' flood.l 
Her Uttle playmates scatter'd many a bud 
Spon her long black hair, wuh glossy gkam 
Just dripping from the conse<;rated stieam , 
While the foung Arab, haunted by the sme^ I 
Of her own mountain flowers, as by a spell,- 

.<. The women blacl.en tl.e inside onheir eyelids witb' 

fine appeal ^iieu Indian women, ha! 

-.JSee^ncJic Researches, so\. iv. 



THE VEILED FrxOPHET 01 KHOil/SSAN. *. 

The sweet Elcaya,* and the t-ourteous tree 
Which bows to all who seek its canopy t — 
Sees call'd up round her by these magic scents 
The well, the camels, and her father's tents ; 
Sighs for the home she left with little pain, 
A.nd wishes e'en its sorrows back again! 

Meanwhile, through vast illuminated halls, 
Silent and bright, where nothing but the falls 
Of fragrant waters, gushing with cool sound 
From many a jasper fount is heard around. 
Young AziM roams bew'Mer'd — nor can guesa 
What means this mazo ol light and loneliness. 
Here the way leads, o'er tessalated floors, 
Or mats of Cairo, through long corridors, 
Wliere, rang'd in cassolets and silver urns. 
Sweet wood of aloe or of sandal burns ; 
And spicy rods, such as illume at night 
The bowers of Tibet, I sends forth odorous Ught 
Like Peris' wands, when pointing out the road 
iFor some pure Spirit to its blest abode ! — 
And here, at once, the glittering saloon 
Bursts t)n his sight, boundless and bright as noon ; 
Where, in the midst, reflecting back the rays 

«' A tree famous for its perfume, and common on th« 
fiills of Yemen." -■•Niebuhr. 

t Of t5ie genus mimosa, " which droops its branches 
'vhenever any person approaches it, seeming as if it sn 
luted those who retire under its shade." ■•■Niebuhr, 

I "Cfeives are a principal ingredient in the composition 
?f tlie perfumed rods, which men of ranlc keep wnstan. . 
Sjuining in their presence." ■ ■■7\imer's Tibet. 
4 



30 THE VEILED PROPHET OF KHJRASSaN. 

In broken rainbows, a fresb fountain plays 
High as th' enamell'd cupola which towers 
All rich with arabesques of gold and flowers ; 
And the mosaic floor beneath shines through 
The sprinkhng of that fountain's silvery dew 
Like the wet, glistening shells of every die, 
That on the margin of the Red Sea lie. 

Here too he traces the kind visitings 
Of woman's love in those fair, living things 
Of land and wave, whose fate, — in bondaga 

thrown 
For their weak lovehness — is like her ovra ! 
On one side, gleaming with a sudden grace 
Through water, brilliant as the crystal vase 
In which it undulates, small fishes shine, 
Like golden ingots from a fairy mine ; 
While, on the other, lattic'd lightly in 
With odorifeous woods of Camori.m* 
Each brilliant bird that wings the air is seen ;— 
Gay, sparkling loories, such as gleam between 
The crimson blossoms of the coral tree,t 
In the warm isles of India's sunny sea : 
Mec/:a's blue sacred pigeon,! and the thrush 

*'• C'ei?l d'ou vient lebcis d'aloes.que les Arabeg ap 
pellenl Oud Comaii.et celui du sandal, qui s'j trouve en 
grande quHn\\^e.---D*IJerbelot. 

t "Thousands of variegated loories visit the coral treea, " 
'■■•Barrow « 

J" In Mi^cca there are quanlities of Hue pigeon* 
which none will affright or abuse, much less kill "--Piit'/ 
dxt'unt of the Mahonviai 



THE VEILED TROPHET OF KHOKASSAN. 5J 

Of Indostan,* whose holy warblings gush, 
At evening from the tall pagoda's top ; — 
Those golden birds, t that, in the spice timedroj 
About the gardens, dnink with that sweet food 
Whose scent hath iur'd them o'er the summer 

flood; 
And those that imder Araby's soft sun 
Build their high nests of budding cinnamon ;t — 
In short, all rare and beauteous things that fly 
Through the pure element, here calmly lie 
Sleeping in light, like the green birds, "5 that dwell 
I In Eden's radiant fields of asphodel ! 

' So on through scenes past all imaginings, — 
More like the luxuries of that impious King, II 
Whom Death's dark Angel, with his lightning 

torch, 
Struck down and blasted even in pleasure's porch; 

" The Pagoda thrush is eeteerned among Ihe first cho- 
risters of India. It sits perched on the sacred Pagodas, 
and from thence delivers its melodious song.---Pcfincn/'j 
Jlindostan. 

t Birds of Paradise, which , at the nutmeg season, come in 
Gighta from the southern isles to India, and "the atrengih 
of the nutmeg," says Tavemier, '« so intoxicates them, 
Ihat they fall dead drunk to the earth." 

t«« That bird which liveth in Arabia, and bulldeth Mi 
3eat wiih cinnam3n."---.Brou-n's Vulvar Errors. 

^ " The spirits of the martyrs will be lodged in the 
Tops of green birds." •••Gibbon, vol. ix p. 421. 

||Sheiad,who made the delicious gardens of Irim ii 
mitaticn of Paradise, and was destroyed by lightning th« 
irat time he attempted to e^Ie^ them.* 



»2 THE VEILED PROPHET OF EHORASSAI?. 

I'han the pure dwelling of a Prophet sent, 
Arm'd with Heaven's sword foi man's erfrai 

chisement — 
Young AziM wander'd, looking sternly round, 
Ilis simple garb and war-boots' clanking sound, 
IJut ill according with the pomp and grace 
And silent lull of that voluptuous place ! 

** Is this then," thought the youth, " is this the 

way 
To free man's spirit from the deadening sway 
Of worldly sloth ; — to teach him while he Uvea 
To know no bhss but that which virtue gives ; 
And when he dies to leave his lofty name 
A light, a land-mark on the cliffs of fame ? 
It was not so, land of the generous thought 
And daring deed ! thy god-like sages taught; 
It was not thus, in bowers of wanton ease, 
Thy Freedom nurs'd her sacred energies ; 
Oh ! not b-eneath th' enfeebling, withering glov 
Of such dull luxu:y did those myrtles grow, 
With which she wreath'd her sword, when she 

would dare 
Immortal deeds ; but in the bracing air 
Of toil, — of temperance, — of that high, rare, 
Ethereal virtue, which alone can breathe, 
Life, health, and lustre into Freedom's wreatn! 
/Who, that surveys this span of earth we press, 
' This speck of life in time's great wilderness, 
This narrow isthmus 'twkt two boundless sess. 
The past, the future, two eternities ? 



THE VLILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 5? 

(Vould sully the bright spot, or leave it bare, / 
When he might build him a proud temple there , 
A name, that long shall hallow all its space, 
And be each purer soul's high resting place ? 
But no — it cannot be that one, whom God 
Has sent to break the wizard Falsehood's rod, — 
A prophet of the truth, whose mission draws 
^ts rights from Heaven, should thus protane his 

cause 
With the world's vulgar pomps, — no, no — I see- 
He thinks me weak — this glare of luxury 
Is but to tempt, to try the eaglet gaze 
Of my young soul; — shine on 'twill stand the 

blaze !" 

So thought the youth ; — but ev'n while he de- 
fied 
The witching scene, he felt its witchery glide 
Through every sense. The perfume, breathing 

round. 
Like a pervading spirit — the still sound 
Of faUing waters, lulling as the song ^ 

Of Indian bees at sunset, when they throng 
Around the fragrant Nilica, and deep 
"In its blue blossoms hum themselves to sleep ! 
Vnd music too — dear music ! that can touch 
3eyond all else the soul that loves it much — 
Now heard far off, so far as but to seem 

* •* My Pundits assure me that the plant before ub [the 
Nilici] iH U.eir Sephalica, thus named tecause the haet 
»re supposed to sleep on ts 'jlossorris ^ --Sir W Jones 



ti THE VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAIf 

Like the faint, exquisite nmsic of a dream ,— 
All was too much for him, too full of bliss : 
The heart could nothing feel, that felt not this. 
Soften'd, he sunk upon a couch, and gave 
His soul up to sweet thoughts, like wave on wav 
Succeeding in smooth seas, when storms are 

laid ; 
He thought of Zelica, his own dear maid, 
And of the time, when, full of blissful sighs, 
They sat and look'd into each other's eyes, 
Silent and happy— as if God had given 
Nought else worth looking at on this side heaven I 

*' O my lov'd mistress ! whose enchantmenta 
still 
Are with me, round me, wander where I will — 
It is for thee, for thee alone I seek 
The paths of glory — to light up thy cheek 
With warm approval — in that gentle look. 
To read my praise, as in an angel's book. 
And think all toils rewarded, when from thee 
Pgain a smile, worth immortality ! 
How shall I bear the moment, when restor'd 
To that young heart where I alone am lord. 
Though of such bliss unworthy, — since the best 
Alone deserve to be the happiest ! — 
When from those lips, unbreathed upon for years, 
I shall again kiss off the soul-felt tears. 
And find those tears warm as when last tliaj 

started, 
Those sacred kisses pure as when we parted ! 



TKE VEILED PROl HEX OV KHOK^SSaN. 55 

Jib my own life ! — why should a single day, 
A moment, keep me from those arms away ?" 

While thus he thinks, still nearer on the breeze 
Come those delicious, dream-hke harmonies, 
Each note of which but adds new, downy links 
To the soft chain in which his spirit sinks. 
He turns him tow'rd the sound, and, far away 
Through a long vista, sparkling with the play 
Of countless lamps, — like the rich track which 

Day 
Leaves on the waters, when he sinks from us ; 
So long the path, its light so tremulous ; — 
He sees a group of female forms advance. 
Some chain'd together in the mazy dance 
By fetters, forg'd in the green sunny bowers, 
As they were captives to the King of Flowers ;— 
And some disporting round, unhnk'd and free. 
Who seem'd to mock their sister's slavery. 
And round and round them still, in wheeling 

riight 
Went, like gay moths about a lamp at night ; 
While others walk'd as gracefully along. 
Their feet kept time, the very soul of song 
From psaltery, pipe, and lutes of heavenly thrill, 
Or their own youthful voices, heavenlier still I 
And now they come, now pass before his eye, 
Forms such as Nature moulds, when she woiUd 

vie 
With Fancy's pencil, and gave birth to thirgs 
Love'y beyond its fairest picturings ! 



56 THE vi:n ed prophet of khorassan. 

Awhile they dance before him, then divide, 
Breakhig, hke rosy clouds at even-tide 
Around the rich pavillion of the sun, 
Till silently dispersing, one by one. 
Through many a path that from the chamhei 

leads 
To gardens, terraces, and moonlight meads, 
Their distant laughter comes upon the wind 
And but one trembling nympli remains behind — 
Beck'ning them back in vain, for they are gone, 
And she is left in all that light alone ; 
No veil to curtain o'er her beauteous brow, 
In its young bashfulness more beauteous now 
But a light golden chain-work round her hair. 
Such as the maids of Yezd and Shiraz wear 
From which, on either side, gracefully hung 
A golden Amulet, in th' Arab tongue. 
Engraven o'er with some immortal line 
From holy writ, or bard scarce less divine ; 
"While her left hand, as shrinkingly she stood, 
Held a small lute of gold and sandal-wood, 
Which once or twice, she touch' d with hurried 

strain, • 

Then took her trembling fingers off agai^i. 
But when at length a timid glance she stole 
At AziM, the sweet gravity of soul 
. She saw through all his features calm'd her fear, 
I And, hke a half-tam'd antelope, more near, 
Though shrinking still she came ; — then sat he? 

down 



•THE VEILfD PROPHET OF KHORASSAH. 51 

Lfpon a musnud's* edge ; and, bolder grown, 

In the pathetic mode of Isfahan t 

Touch' d a prehxding strain, and thus began : 

There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's t 
stream, 
And the nightingale sings round it all the day 
long ; 
In the time of my childhood 'twas like a swee« 
dream, 
To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song. 

Tliat bower and its music I never forget, 

But oft when alone, in the bloom of th* ^-* 
year, 

I think — is the nightingale singing there yet ! 
Are the roses still bright by the calm Bende- 

MEER ? - 

No, the roses soon wither' d that hung o'er the 
wave. 
But some blossoms were gather'd, while fresh- 
ly they shone, 

And a dew was distill' d from their flowers, thai 
gave 



* Musnuds are cushioned aeats, usuaUv reserved foi 
persons of distinction. 

t The Persians, lilce the ancient Greelc", call their mu- 
•ical modes or Perdas by the names of different countrie* 
cr cities ; as, «he mode of Isfahan, the mode of Irak, etc 

I A rlv«r«h'5h flows near tie :uins of Chilminsx 



f)S i«7S VEILED PROPHET OF KBORASSA]V. 

All ibe fragrance of summer, when summer wa» 

'iiius memory draws from delight, ere it dies, 
An essence that breathes of it many a year ; 
/ Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my 
eyes, 
Ts til at bower on the banks of the calm Bem- 

DEMEER ! 

'• Poor maiden !" thought the youth, " if thoL 
wert sent. 
With thy soft lute and beauty's blandishment. 
To wake unholy wishes in this heart. 
Or tempt its truth, thou htile know'st the art. 
F'or though thy lip should sweetly counsel wrong 
Those vestal eyes would disavow its song. 
But thou hast breath'd such pm-ity, thy lay 
Returns so fondly to youth's virtuous day, 
And leads thy soul — if e'er it wander'd thence- - 
So gently back to its first innocence. 
That I would sooner stop th' unchained dove, 
When swift returning to its home of love. 
And round its snov/y wing new fetters twine, 
Thix.i turn from virtue one pure wish of thine.'' 

S,.<irci3 had this feeUng pass'd, when, sparkling 

through 
Trie gently open'd curtains of hght blue 
That veil'd the breezy casement, countless eye^, 
Peeping Ivke stars through the blue evenini 

skies. 



THb VEILED PROPHET Ot 'UC AASSAN. 53 

LooVd laughing in, as if to mock the pair 
That sat so still and melancholy there. — 
And now the curtauis fly apart, and in 
From the cool air, 'mid showers of jessamine 
Which those without fling after them in play, 
Two lightr )me maidens spring, lightsome an 

they 
WTio live in th' air en odours, and firound 
'*^he bnght saloon, scarce conscious of the 

ground, 
rJhaije one another in a varying dance 
Of mirth and languor, coyness and advance, 
Too eloquently hke love's warm pursuit : — 
While she, who sung so gently to the lute 
Her dreams of home, steals timidly away. 
Shrinking as violets do in summer's ray, — 
But takes with her from Azim's heart that sigh 
We sometimes give to forms that pass us by 
In the world's crowd, too lovely to remain, 
Creatures of hgh^ we never see again ! 
Around the white necks of the nymphs who 

danc'd. 
Hung carcanets of orient gems, that glanc'd 
More briUiant than the sea-glass glittering o'er 
The hills of crystal on the Caspian shore ; * 
V/hile from their long' dark tresses, in a fall 

* " To the north of us, [on the coast of the Caspian, 
rreai* Eadku] was a mounlain which sparkl-^d like dia- 
monds, arising t'lom the sea-glass and crystals, with which 
it abounds "•■■Jounuy of the JRitssian ^mbasaador Ut 
PersiOy 1T46. 



•iO THE VEILED PROPHET CF Knt> / SSAN 

Of curls doscen4ing, bells as musical 
As those that, on the golden-shafted ^^ees 
Of Eden, shake in the Eternal Breeze, "* 
Rung round their steps, at every bound mora 

sweet. 
As 'twere th' ecstatic language of their feet ! 
At length tie chase was o'er, and they stood 

wreath' d 
Within each other's arms ; while soft there 

breath' d 
Through the cool casement, mingled with the 

sighs 
Of moonlight flowers, music that seem'd to rise 
From some still lake, so liquidly it rose ; 
A.nd, as it swell'd again at each faint close. 
The ear could track through all that maze of 

chords 
A.nd young sweet voices, these impassion'd 

words :— 

A Spirit there is, whose fragrant sigh 
Is burning now through earth and air ; 

Where checks are blushing, the Spirit is nigh, 
Where lips are meeting, the Spirit is there ! 

His breath is the soul of flowers like these. 
And his floating eyes — oh ! they resemble 



* " To which will be added, the sound of the bells, 
hanging on ihe frees, which will he put in motion by 1h© 
wind proceeding from the Ihmne of God, as oftnn aa lh«« 
bleaied wisih for music"-- -5a/e 



THE VEILED FROrHEl DF KHORASS^N. ^\ 

Blue water-lilies, * when the breeze 
Is making the stream around them tremble ' 

Hail to thee, hail to thee, kindling powsr ! 

Spirit of Love, Spirit of Bliss ! 
f hy holiest time is the moonlight hour, 

And there never was moonlight so sweet ta 
this. 

By the fair and brave, 

Who blushing unite, 
Like the sun and the wave. 

When they meet at night ! 

By the tear that shows 

When passion is nigh. 
As the rain- drop flows 

From the heat of the sky I 

Bv the first love-beat 

Ji tne youthful heart, 
By the bliss to meet, 
And the pain to part ! 

By all that thou hast 

To mortals given. 
Which — oh ! could it last, 

This earth were heaven ! 



♦The blue lotos, which grows in Cashmore and ! 
Persia. 



62 THE VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 

We call thee hither, entrancing Power ! 

Spirit of Love ! Spirit of Bliss ! 
Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour I 

And there never was moonlight so sweet as 
this. 



Impatient of a scene, whose luxuries stole, 
Spite of himself, too deep into his soul, 
And where, 'midst all that the young heart loves 

most, 
Flowers, music, smiles, to yield was to be lost ; 
The youth had started up and turned away 
From the light nymphs and their luxurious lay 
To muse upon the pictures that hung round, — 
Bright images, that spoke without a sound, 
And views, like vistas into fairy ground. 
But here again new spells came o'er his sense, 
All that the pencil's mute omnipotence 
Could call up into life, of soft and fair. 
Of fond and passionate, was glowing there, 
Nor yet too v/arm, but touch'd with that fine art 
Which paints of pleasure but the purer part ; 
Which knows ev'n beauty when half veil'd is 

best. 
Like her own radiant planet of the west, 
Whose orb when half retir'd looks lovehest! 
There hung the history of the Genii-King, 
Trac'd through each gay voluptuous wandering 
With her from Saba's bowers, in wh )se bright 

eyes 



THE VEILED PKOPHET OF KHORASSAN. 63 

He read that to be blest is to be wise ;* — 
Here fond ZuLEiKAt woos with open arms 
The Hebrew boy, who flies from her young 

charms, 
Yet, flying turns to gaze, and, half undone, 
Wishes that heaven and she could loth be won ! 
And here Mohammed, born for love and guile, 
Forgets the Koran in his Mary's smile ; — 
Then beckons some kind angel from above 
With a new text to consecrate their love ! J 

With rapid step, yet pleas'd andhngering eye, 
Did the youth pass these pictur'd stories by, 
And hastened to a casement, where the light 
Of the calm moon came in, and freshly bright 
The fields without were seen, sleeping as still 
As if no life remain' d in breeze or rill. 
Here paused he, while the music, now less near, 
Breath' d with a holier language on his ear. 
As though the distance and that heavenly ray 
Through which the sounds came floating, took 
away 

* For the loves of King Solomon, [wlio was supposed to 
preside over the whole race of Genii] with Halkis, the 
Queen of. >heha or Saba, see i>'//er6«iZoZ and the Notes 
on the Koran, ( hap. ii. 

tThe wifeof Poufhar, thus named by the Orientala 
Hei- adventure with the Patriarch Joseph'isthe subject of 
many of their poems and romances. 

tTho particulars of Mahoniet's amour with Mary, the 
Coptic girl, in jusiiticaiion of which he added a new chap), 
ler to the Koran, may bf found in Gagnier^s AWes upon 
ibu-'J'eda, p. 151. 



6-1 THE VEILED IT.orHF.T OF KHORASSAN. 

All that had been too earthly in the lay. 
Oh ! could he listen to such sound-s unmov'd. 
And by that light — nor dream of her he lov'd ? 
Dream on unconscious boy ! while yet thou 

may' St; 
'Tis the last bhss thy soul shall ever taste. 
Clasp yet awhile her image to thy heart, 
Ere all the light, that made it dear, depart. 
Think of her smiles as when thou saw'st them 

last. 
Clear, beautiful, by nought of earth o'ercast; 
Recall her tears, to thee at parting given. 
Pure as they weep, if angels weep, in heaven ' 
Thmkin her own still bower she waits thee now 
With the same glow of heart and bloom of brow, 
Yet shrin'd in solitude — thine all, thine only. 
Like the one star above thee, bright and lonelv ' 
Oh that a dream so sweet so long enjoy'd, 
Should be so sadly, cniellv destroy'd I 

The song is hush'd, the laughing nymphs are 

flown, 
And he is left, musing of bliss, alone ;- 
Alone ? — no, not alone — that heavy sigh, 
That sob of grief, which broke from some one 

nigh— 
Whose could it be ? — alas ! is misery found 
Here, even here, on this enchanted ground? 
He turns, and sees a female form, close veil d. 
Leaning as if both heart and strength had failed 
Against a pillar near; — not glittering o'er 



THE VEILED iROPHET OF KIIORASSAJl , 6b 

With gems and wreaths, such as the others wore. 
But in that deep-blue melancholy dress,* 
Bokhara's maidens wear in mindfulness 
Of friends or kindred, dead or far away ; — 
And such as Zelica had on that day 
He left her — when, with heart too full to speak, 
He took away her last warm tears upon hia> 
cheek. 

A strange emotion stirs within him, — more 
Than mere compassion ever waked before ; 
'Jnconsciously he opes his arms, while she . 
Springs forward, as with hfe's last energy, t/ 
But, swooning in that one convulsive bound. 
Sinks, ere she reach his arms, upon the ground ; — 
Her veil falls off— her faint hands clasp his' 

knees — 
Tis she herself! — 'tis Zelica he sees ! 
But, ah, so pale, so chang'd — none but a lover 
Could in that wreck of beauty's shrine discover 
The once ador'd divinity ! ev'n he 
3tood for some moments mute, and doubtingly 
Put back the ringlets from her brow, and gaz'di 
Upon those hds where once suclr lustre blaz'd 
5re he could think she was i?ideed liis own, 
3wn darling maid, whom he so long had known 
.n joy and sorrow, beautiful in both ; 
W^ho, e'en when grief was heaviest — when loth 
ie left her for the wars — in that worst hour 

••' Deep-blue is their mourninf; color.'"- '-Hantvay, 
5 



66 THE VEILED rBOrUEl OF KH0KAS3AN. 

Sat ia her sorrow like the sweet night-flower,* 
When darkness bringj its weeping glories out, 
And spreads its sighs hke frankincense about ! 

" Look up, my Zelica — one moment show 
Those gentle eyes to me, that I may know 
Thy life, thy loveliness is not all gone, 
But there, at least, shines as it ever shone. 
Come, look upon thy Azim — one dear glance, 
Like those of old, were heaven ! whatevel 

chance 
Hath brought thee here, oh ! 'twas a blessed one ! 
There — my sweet lids — they move — that kiss 

hath run 
Like the first shoot of life through every vein, 
And now I clasp her mine, all mine again ! 
Oh the delight — now, in this very hour. 
When, had the whole rich world been in my powe» 
I should have singled out thee, only thee, 
From the whole world's collected treasury 
To have thee here — to hang thus fondly o'er 
My own best purest Zelica once more '." 

It was indeed the touch of those lov'd lips 
Upon her eyes that chas'd their short eclipse. 
And, gradual as the snow, at heaven's breath. 
Melts off and shows the azure flowers beneatn. 
Her lids unclos'd, and the bright eyes were seen 



♦ The itorrowful nyclanthes, vkiich begins ^o spread it« 
nch odoN after ^unaet 



THE VEIIED PROPHET OF KH0KAS3AN'. 67 

Gazing on his — not as they late had been, 
Quick, restless, wild— but mournfully serene ; 
As if to lie, ev'n for that tranc'd ininutR, 
So near his heart, had consolation in it ; 
And thus to wake in his beloved caress 
Took from her soul one half its wretchedness. 
But when she heard him call her good and pure, 
Oh 'twas too much — too dreadful to endure ! 
Shuddering she broke away from his embrace, 
And, hiding with both hands her guilty face, 
Said, in a tone, whose anguish would have riveij 
A heart ofvery marble, "pure 1 — oh! heaven." 

That tone — those looks so chang'd — the wither- 
ing blight 

That sin and sorrow leave where'er they light — 
The dead despondency of those sunk eyes, 
Where once, had he thus met her by surprise, 
Hfe would have seen himself, too happy boy !- 
[leflected in a thousand lights of joy ; 
\nd then the place, that bright unholy place, 
kVhere vice lay hid beneath each winning grace 
Ind charm of luxury, as the viper weaves 
ts wily covering of sweet balsam-leaves ;*— 
Ul struck upon his heart, sudden and cold 
is death itself; — ^it needs not to be told — 
'To, no — he sees it ail, plain as the brand 



' Concernins the vipers, which P!inj says were fre 
uent among the balsam-trees, I made very particular in- 
liry : several were brought me alive, bothin Yambo anb 
Ad&."- ••Bruce. 



58 THE VEILED PROrixET OF KHORASS\iN 

Of burning shame can mark — whate'er the hand 
That could from heav'n and him such brightness 

sever, 
'Tis done — to heav'n and him she's lost for ever 
It was a dreadful moment ; not the tears, 
The lingering, lasting misery of years. 
Could match that minute's anguish — all the worst 
Of sorrow's elements in that dark burst. 
Broke o'er his soul, and, with one crash of fate. 
Laid the whole hopes of his life desolate ! 

" Oh ! curse me not," she cried, as wild he 

toss'd 
His desperate hand tow'rds heav'n — " though I 

am lost, 
Think not that guilt, that falsehood made me fall ; 
No, no— 'twas grief, 'twas madness did it all! 
Nay, doubt me not — though all my lovp hath 

ceas'd — 
I know it hath — yet, yet believe, at least, 
That every spark of reason's light must be 
Quench'd in this brain, ere I could stray from 
'' thee ! 

They told me thou wert dead — why, Azim, why, 
Did we not both of us that instant die 
When we were parted ? — oh, could'st thou but 

know 
With what a deep devotcdness of wo 
I wept thy absence — o'er and o'er again 
Thinking of thee, still thee, till thought grew pain, 
And memory, Uke a drop, that, night and day 



\ 

Hii TEJLED PROPHEI ."'F KHORASSAl-- 

Falls cold and ceaseless, wore my heart away 1 
Didst thou but know how pale I sat at home, 
My eyes still turn'd the way thou weit to come. 
And, all the long, long night of hope and fear, 
Thy voice and step still sounding in my ear — 
Oh God! thou would'st not wonder, tl«,t, at last. 
When every hope was all at once o'ercast, 
When I heard frightful voices round me say 
Azim is dead ! — this wretched brain gave way 

And I became a wreck at random driven, 
Without one glimpse of reap ;n or of Heaven — 

All wild — and ev'n this quenchless love within 

Turn'd to foul fires to light me into sin ! 

Thou pitiest me — I knew thou would'st — that 
sky 

Hath nought beneath it half so lorn as I. 

The fiend, who lur'd me hither — hist ! come 
near, 

Or thou too. ihou art lost, if he should hear — 

Told me such things — oh ! with such dev'lish art. 

As would have ruin'd ev'n a hoUer heart — 

Of thee, and of that ever-radiant sphere. 

Where, bless'd at length, if I but serv'd him . 
here, / 

I should forever live in thy dear sight, V 

And drink from those pure eyes eternal light ! 

Think, think how 'ost, how madden'd I must be. 

To hope that guilt could lead to God or thee ! 

Thou weep'st for me — do, weep — oh ! that 1 
durst 

Kiss of that ttiir' but, no — these lips are cursti 



70 THE VEILFD PROPHET OF PHOKASSAN. 

They must not touch thee ; — one divine caresa 
One blessed moment ot' forgetfulness 
I've had within those arms, and that shall lie, 
Shrined in my soul's deep memory till I die ' 
The last of joys last rehcs here below, 
The one sweet drop in all this waste of wo, 
My heart has treasur'd from affection's spring, 
To soothe and cool its deadly withering ! 
But thou — yes, thou must go — for ever go ; 
This place is not for thee — for thee ! oh no : 
Did I but tell thee half, thy tortur'd brain 
Would burn like mine, and mine go wild again I 
Enough that guilt reigns here — that hearts, once 

good. 
Now tainted, chill'd and broken, are his food. 
Enough, that we are parted — that there rolls 
A flood of headlong fate between our souls, 
Whose darkness severs me as wide from thee 
As hell from heav'n, to all eternity !" — 

"Zelica! Zelica!" the youth exclaimed, 
In all the tortures of a mindinflam'd 
Almost to madness — " by that sacred Heav'n, 
Where yet, if pray'rs can move, ihou'lt be for 

given. 
As thou art liere — here, in this writhing heart, 
All sinful, wild, and ruin'd as thou art ! 
By the remembrance of our once pure love. 
Which, like a church-yard hght, still burns above 
The grave of our lost souls — which guilt in thee 
Cannot extinguish, nor despair in me ! 



i 



THE VEILED FKOyHET Of KH0RA&3AN. 71 

I do conjure, implore fhee to fly hence — 
If thou hast yet one spark of innocence, 

Fly with me from this place." 

" With thee! oh bliss, 
'Tis worth whole years of torment to hear this. 
What ! take the lost one with thee ? — let her 

rove 
3y thy dear side, as in those days of love, 
•Vhen we were both so happy, both so pure — 
Too heavenly dream ! if there's on . rth a cure 
For the sunk heart, 'tis this — day afte. day 
To be the blest companion of thy way ; — 
To hear thy angel eloquence — to see 
Those virtuous eyes for ever turn'd on me ; 
And in their light re-chasten' d silently. 
Like the stain'd web that whitens in the sun. 
Grow pure by being purely shone upon ; 
And thou wilt pray for me — I know thou wilt — 
At the dim vesper hour, when thoughts of guilt 
Come heaviest o'er theheart,thou'lthft thine eyes, 
Full of sweet tears, unto the darkening skies, 
And plead for me with Heav'n,till I can dare 
To fix Yny own weak, sinful glances there; — 
Till the good angels, when they see me cling 
For ever near thee, pale and sorrowing. 
Shall for thy sake pronounce my soul forgiven, 
And bid thee take thy weeping slave to heaven! 

Oh yes, I'll fiy with thee." 

Scarce had she said 
These breathless !^'ords, when a voice. d(^-ep and 
dread 



•72 THE VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 

.As that of MoNKER, waking up the dead / 

:Froin their first sleep — so starthng 'twas tc/ 

both— 
'Rung through the casement near, " Thy oath ! 

thy oath !" 
Oh Heav'n, the ghasthness of that maid's look! — 
' 'Tis he," faintly she cried, while terror shook 
Her himost core, nor durst she lift her eyes, 
Though through the casement, now, nought but 

the skies 
And moonlight fields were seen, calm as before— 
" 'Tis he, and I am his — all, all is o'er — 
Go — fly this instant, or thou art ruined too — 
My oath, my oath, oh God! 'tis all too true, 
True as the worm in this cold heart it is — 
T am Mokanna's bride — his, Azim, his. — 
The Dead stood round us while I spoke that vow : 
Their blue lips echo'd it — I hear them now ! 
Their eyes glar'd on me, while I pledg'd that 

bowl, 
'Twas burning blood — I feel it in my soul . 
And the Veil'd Bridegroom — hist ! I've seen to- 
night 
What angels know not of — so foul a sight. 
So horrible — oh ! may'st thou never see 
What there lies hid from all but heil and me ! 
But I must hence — off", ofi"— I am not thine, 
Nor Heav'n's, nor love's, nor aught that is 

divine — 
Elold mt not — ha !- -think'st thou the fiends that 

sever 



THE VEILEU PROPIIEr OE KHOKASSAN. 73 

Hearts, cannot sunder hands? -thus, then — for 
ever :" 

With all that strength which madness lends 
the weak, 
She flung away his arm ; and, with a shriek,^ 
Whose sound, though he should linger out more 

years 
Than wretch e'er told, can never leave his ears, — 
Flew up through that long avenue of hght, 
Fleetly as some dark, ominous bird of night, 
Across the sun, and soon was out of sight. 



Lalla Rookh could think of nothing all day 
but the misery of these two young lovers. Her 
gayety was gone, and she looked pensively even 
upon Fadladeen. She felt too, without know 
ing why, a sort of uneasy pleasure in imaginmg 
that AziM must have been just such a youth as 
Feramorz ; just as worthy to enjoy all the bless- 
ings, without any of the pangs, of that illusive 
passion, which too often, hkc the sunny apples 
of Istkahar, is all sweetness on one side, and 
all bitterness on the other. 

As they passed along a sequestered river after 
sunset, they saw a young Hindoo girl upon the 
bank, whose employment seemed to them so 
strange, that they stopped their palankeens tc 
observe her. She had hghted a small lamp, fill- 
ed with oil of cocoa, and placing it in an earthen 
dish, adorned with awe; ^.h of flowers hnA. com 



74 THE VEILED IROFHEX OF KHCRASSiX. 

mitted it with a trembling hand to the stream, 
and was now anxiously watching its progress 
down the current, heedless of the gay cavalcade 
which had drawn up beside her. Lalla Rookh 
was all curiosity: — when one of her attendants. 
who had lived upon the banks of the Ganges, 
(where this ceremony is so frequent, that often, 
in the dusk of the evening, the river is seen glit- 
tering all over with lights, hke the Oton-tala or 
Sea of Stars,) informed the Princess that it was 
the usual way in which the friends of those who 
had gone on dangerous voyages offered up vom's 
for their safe return. It the lamp sunk imme- 
diately, the omen was disastrous ; but if it went 
shining down the stream, and continued to burn 
till entirely out of sight, the return of the belov- 
ed object was considered as certain. 

Lalla Rookh, as they moved on, more than 
once looked back, to observe how the young 
Hindoo's lamp proceeded; and, while she saw 
%vith pleasure that it was still unextinguished, 
she could not help fearing that all the hopes of 
this life were no better than that feeble light up- 
on the river. The remainder of the journey waa 
passed in silence. She now, for the first time, 
felt that shade of melancholy, which comes over 
the youthful maiden's heart, as sweet and tran- 
sient as her own breath upon a mirror ; nor wag 
it till she heard the lute of Feramorz, toiiched 
lightly at the door of her pavilion, that she waked 
from the reverie in which she hrd been wander- 



THE VEILED FEOPi-ET JF KHOR ASSAN. 7£ 

Irig. Instantly hei* eyes were lighted up with 
pleasure, and, after a few unheard remarks from 
Fadladeen upon the indecorum of a poet seating 
himself in presence of a Princess, every thing 
was arranged as on the preceding evening, and 
all hstened with eap-emess, while the story was 
thus contmued : — 

Whose are the glided tents that crowd the way, 
Where all was waste and silent yesterday ? 
This City of War, which in a few short hours, 
Hath sprung up here, as if the magic powers 
Of him, who, in the twinkling of a star. 
Built the high pillar'd halls of Chiii^unar,* 
Had conjur'd up, iar as the eye can see, 
Tliis world of tents, and domes, and sun-bright 

armory ' — 
Princely pavilions, screened by many a fold 
Of crimson cloth, and topp'd with balls of gold, 
Steeds, with their housings of rich silver spun, 
Their chains and poitrels glittering in the sun ; 
And camels tufted o'er with Yemen's shells, 
Shaking in every breeze their light-ton'd bells ! 

But yester-eve, so motionless around. 
So mute was this wide plain that not a sound 



• The edifice? of Chilminar and Balbec are supposed 
to have been liuilt by the Genii, acting under the ordem 
of Jan ben Jan, who governed the woild long before tii» 
lin3e of Adara. 



76 THE VEILED PRCPHET OF EHOKAsSAN. 

But the far torrent, or the locust bird* 
Hunting among the thickets, could be heard ;— ' 
yet hark ! what discords now, of every kind, 
Shouts, laughs, and screams, are revelling in the 

wind ! 
The neigh of cavalry ; the tinkling throngs 
Of laden camels and their driver's songs ;- 
Ringing of arms, and (lapping in the breeze 
Of streamers from ten thousand conopies ; — 
War-music, bursting out from time to time 
With gong and tymbalon's tremendous chime ; 
Or, in the pause, when harsher sounds are mute, 
The mellow breathings of some horn or flute. 
That, far off, broken by the eagle note 
Of the Abyssinian trumpet,! swell and float! 
Who leads this mierhty army ? — ask ye 

"who?" 
And mark ye not those banners of dark hue. 
The Night and Shadow,! over yonder tent ? — 
It is the Caliph's glorious armament. 
Rous' d in his palace by the dread alarms, 
That hourly came, of the false Prophet's arms, 

* A native of Khorassan, and allured southward bj 
meana of the water of a founlain, between Shiraz and 
Ispahan, called the Fountain of Birds, of which it is so 
fond that it will follow wherever that water is carried. 

t •' This Trumpet is often called in Abjssinia, neaserea- 
no, which signifies, The note of the Eagle. "•••A'o/« oj 
Bruce's Editor. 

* The two black standards borne before the Caliphs of 
the house of Abbi.s, were called, ailegorically, the Nigh< 
and the Shadow. See Gibbon. 



1-iIE VEILED PKOPIIET oF KHORASSAH. 71 

And of his host of infidel's, who hurl'd 
Defiance fierce at Islam* and the world ;- 
Though worn with Grecian warfare, and behini 
The veils of his bright palace calm rechn'd, 
Yet brook'd he not such blasphemy should stain, 
Thus unreveng'd, the evening of his reign ; 
But, having sworn upon the Holy Gravet 
To conquer or to perish, once more gave 
His shadowy banners proudly to the breeze, 
And, with an army nurs'd in victories, 
Here stands to crush the rebels that o'er-run 
His blest and beauteous Province of the Sun. 

Ne'er did the march of Mahadi display 
ouch pomp before ; — not e'n when on his way 
To Mecca's Temple, when both land and sea 
Were spoil'd to feed the pilgrim's luxury ;% 
When round him, 'mid the burning sands, he saw 
Fruits of the North, in icy freshness thaw, 
A.nd cool'd his thirsty lip beneath the glow 
Of Mecca's sun ,with urns of Persian snow;^ 
Nor e'er did armament more grand than that, 
Pour from the kmgdoms of the CaRphat. 



* The Mahometan Religion. 

f '* The Persians swear by the tomb of Shah Besade, 
who is buried at Casbin ; and when one desires anothei 
(0 asseverate a matter, he will ask him if he dare swear bj> 
the Holj Grave. ".-•-Si'ruj/. 

t Mahadi, in a single pilgrimage to M6coa, expended 
six millions of dinars of gold. 

ft " Nivem Meccam apportavit, rem ibi aul nur.quam 8«. 
'aro v'xsAm." •■■^bulfeda. 



78 THS VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 

First, in the van, the People of the Rock,* 
On their light mountain steeds, of Royal stock ;i 
Then Chieftains of Damascus, proud to see 
The flashing of their swords' rich marquetry ;t 
Men from the regions near the Volga's mouth, 
iMLxM with the rude, black archers of the South , 
And Indian lancers, in white turban' d ranks, 
From the far Sinde, or Attock's sacred banks, 
With dusky legions from the land of Myrrh, ^ 
And many a mace arm'd Moor, and Mid -sea 

islander. 
Nor less in number, though more new and rude 
In warfare's school was the vast multitude 
That, fir'd by zeal or by oppression wrong'd. 
Round th' white standard of th' Impostorthrong'd. 
Besides his thousands of Believers, — bhnd, 
Earning and headlong as the Samiel wind, — 
Many who felt, and more who fear'd to feel 
The bloody Islamite's converting steel, 
Flock'd to his banner ; — Chiefs of the Uzbece 

race. 



* Tlie inhabitants of Hejas or Arabia Pelrse, called by 
En Eastern writer «* The People of the Rock.'" ■•■E'ln 
Haukal. 

t«* Those horees, called by the Arabio'is Kochlani, of 
whom a written gf'nealogy has lieeri kept for 2000 years. 
They are said to derive their origin fronn King Solomon's 
gieeds."---MeiWir. 

J** IVfany of the figures on he blades of their sworda 
a-e wrought in gold and silver or \n maniuelr? wilhsmaU 
ft^m^y—Jlsiat.'Miae. vo\.\. 

i Az:ibi 0- **»'i a 



THE VEILED rROPI\ET OF KIIORaSSAN. 7? 

'Vaving their heron crests with martial grace ;* 
ruRKC-MANa, countless as thoir flocks, led ibrfh 
•'rom the aromatic pastures of the North ; 
vVild warriors of the turquoise hillst — and those 
»Vho dwell beyond the everlaatiiig snows 
)f Hindoo KoshJ in stormy freedom bred, 
rheir fort the rock, their camp the torrent's bed. 
Jut none, of all who owned the Chiefs* com- 
mand, 
lush'd to the battle field with bolder hand, 
3r sterner hate, than Iran's out-law'd men, 
ier worshippers of fire"^ — all panting then 
''or vengeance on the accursed Saracen ; 
i^'engeance at last for their dear country epurn'd, 
Ier throne usurp' d, and her bright shrines o'er- 

turn'd, 
i^rom Yezd'sII eternal mansion of the Fire, _ 
IVhere aged saints in dreams of Heav'n expire : 

« " The Chiefs of the Uzbec Tartars wear a plume of 
diite heron's feathers in their turbans. " — ^Jccount of In- 
if pendent Tartary. 

I " In the iTiountains of Nishapour, and Tous, in Kho- 
mssan, thej find turquoises. ---^^oj Haukal. 

\ For a description of these stupendous ranges of 
iiountains, see Elphinstone^s Cuubul. 

^ The Ghebers or Guebres, those original natives of 
Persia, who adhered to their ancient failh, the religion of 
Zoroaster, and who, after the conquest of their rountrj 
bj the Anabs, were eiiher persecuted at home, or forced 
to become wanderers abroad. 

H" Yezd, the chief residence of those ancient natives, 
who worship tie Sun and the Fire, which latter Ihey have 
carefully k>p'. li^bt^d, vilhont beinf once extingui»hed 



60 THE VEILED PROPHET OF KHORA.SSAN. 

From Badku, und those fountains of blue flam* 
That burn into the Caspian,* fierce they came, 
Careless for what or whom the blow was sped, 
So vengeance triumph'd and their tyrants bled! 

Such was the wild and miscellaneous host, 
That high in air their motley banners tost 
Around the Prophet Chief — all eyes still bent 
Upon that glittering Veil, where'er it went, 
That beacon through the battle's stormy flood. 
That rainbow of the field, whose showers were 

blood ! 
Twice hath the sun upon their conflict set, 
And ris'n again, and found them grappling yet; 
While steams of carnage in his noon-tide blaze. 
Smoke up to heav'n — hot as that crimson haze 
By which the pi-ostrate Caravan is aw'd, 
In the red desert when the wind's abroad ! 
"On, swords of God!" the panting Caliph 

calls — 
"Thrones for the living — Heav'n for him whc 

falls!" 
" On brave avengers, on," Mokanna cries, 
" And Eblis blast the recreant slave that flies !' 



for a moment, above 3000 years, on a mounlain near 
Yezd, called Ai^r Quedah, signifying the House or Man- 
sion of the Fire. He is reckoned very unfortunate who 
lies oflflhat mounta'w.''--- Stephen''s Persia. 

♦" When Ihe weather is hazy, the springs of Naptht 
(on an island ntar Baku) boil up higher, and the Napth* 
often takes Pre on the surface of the earth, and runs in a 
flame into the sea, to a din'a'^se almcst incredible "-•• 
Hamtmj on tlie exrlnti'-g J^t rJ ^Jitki. . 



THE VEILED FKOPHET 05 KSJKASSATV. SI 

STow comes the brunt, the crisis of the day — 
They clash — they strive — the Caliph's troopa 

give way ! 

VIokakna's self plucks the black banner down, 
\nd now the Orient World's imperial crown 
s just within his grasp — when, hark ! that shout >. 
5ome hand hath check' d the flying Moslem's 

rout : 

Vnd now they turn — they rally — at their head 
V warrior, (like those angel youths who led, 
n glorious panoply of heaven's own mail, 
The Champions of the Faith through Bedab's 

vale,)* 
Bold as if gifted wdth ten thousand lives, 
Turns on the fierce pursuers' blades, and drives 
\.t once the multhudinous torrent back. 
Awhile hope and courage kindle in his track, 
^nd, at each step, his bloody falchion makes 
Terrible vistas, through which victory breaks ! 
n vain Mokanna, 'midst the general flight, 
Hands, like the red moon, on some stormy night, 
^mong the fugitive clouds that, hurrying by, 
-icave only her unshaken in the sky ! — 
n vain he yells his desperate curses out, 
)eals death promiscuously to all about, 
To foes that charge, and coward friends that fly, 



* In the Rreat victory gained by Mahomed at Bedar, he 
as assisted, say Ihe Mussulmdns, by thee thousand at 
»*l8. led by Gabriel, mounted on hia horse Hiazurn.--- 
lie K'yran and its ( ommentators. 



62 THE VillLEr HOPEET DT KHORiSSAN. 

And ^eerns of all the Grea*. Arch-enemy ' 
The panic spreads — " a miracle !" throughout 
The Moslem ranks, " a miracle !" they shout, 
All gazing on that youth, whose coming seems 
A Ught. glory, such as breaks in dreams ; 
Jxi.d c-\ tfry sword, true as o'er billows dim 
The needle tracks the load-star, following him ! 
Right tow'rds Mokanna now he cleaves his 

path, 
Impatient cleaves, as though the bolt of wrath 
He bears from Heav'n whhheld its awful burst 
From weaker heads, and souls but half-way curst, 
To break o'er him, the mightiest and the worst! 
But vain his speed — though in that hour of b.^ood, 
Had all God's seraphs round Mokawna str-od. 
With swords of fire, ready like fate to fall, 
&'Ioeanjta's r^ul would have defied them all . — 
Vet no\/ }he rush of fugitives, too strong, 
For human force, hurries e'en liim along; 
fn vain he struggles 'mid the wedg'd array 
Of fljang thousands, — he is borne away; 
And the sole joy his baffled spirit knows 
Tn this forced flight is — murdering as he goye ! 
As a grim tiger, whom the torrent's might 
Surprises in some parch' d ravine at night. 
Turns e'en in drowning, on the wretched floclv? 
Swept with him in that snow-flood from the rocLs, 
And to the last devouring on hi?; w?.y. 
Bloodies the siream he hath not power to stay 
" Alia il Alia !"'"^the glad shout renew-— 



THE VEILED PROPHET C? rnORASSAN. 83 

'*x\Ila Abkar!"* — the Caliph's in Merou. 
Hang out your gilded tapestry in the streets, 
4nd hght your shrines, and chaunt your zLra* 

leets ;t 
;''he swords of God have triumph' d — on hia 

throne 
four Cahpfi sits, and the Veil'd Chief haii) 

flovvn. 
»Vho does not envy that young warrior now, 
To whom the Iiord of Islam bends his brow, 
In all the graceful gratitude of power, 
For his throne's safety in that perilous hour? 
Who does not wonder, vvhen, amidst th' acclaim 
Of thousands, heralding to heaven his name— 
'Mid ail those holier harmonies of fame. 
Which sound along the path of virtuous soulft 
Like music round a planet as it rolls ! 
He turns away coldly as if some gloom 
Hung o'er his heart no triumphs can illume ;— 
Some sightless grief, upon whose blasted gaze 
Though glory's light may play, in vain it plays. 
Yes, wretched Azim ! thine is such a grief. 
Beyond all hope, all terror, all relief; 
A dark, cold calm, which nothing now can break, 
Or warm or brighten, — hke that Syrian Lake,t 



* The techbir, or cry oFthe Arabs, " Alia Abkar !" sajs 
Dckley, means, " God is mosi mighty." 

fThezlraleet i3 « bind of chorus, ivhich ihe women of 
fhe East sing uppr yojftil occasions. 

i The Dead Set ' »fhich contains nether animal qo« 
•<?» stable life 



B4 THE VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 

Upon whose surface morn and summer shed 
Their smiles in vain, for all beneath is dead - 
Hearts there have been, o'er which this weigJu 

of wo 
Came by long use of suffering, tame and slovs , 
But thine, lost youth ! was sudden — over thee 
t broke at once, when all seem'd ecsiacy ; 
When Hope look'd up, and saw the gloomy Past 
Melt into splendor, and Bliss dawn at last — 
Twas then, ev'n then, o'er joys so freshl3' 

blown, 
This mortal blight of ^[lisery came down ' 
Ev'n then, the full, warm gushings of thy heart 
Were check' d — like fount-drops, frozen as they 

start ! 
And there, like ihem, cold, sunless relics hang 
Each fix'd and chill'd into a lasting pang ! 

One sole desire, one passion now remains, 
To keep life's fever still within his veins, — 
Vengeance ! — dire vengeance on the wretch who 

cast 
O'er him and all he lov'd that ruinous blast. 
For this, when rumors reach'd him in his flight 
Far, far away after that fatal night, — 
Rumors C)f armies, thronging to th' attack 
Of the Veil'd Chief, — ^for this he wing'd him 

back, 
Fleet as the vulture speeds to flags unfurl' d, 
And came when all seem'd lost, and wildly 

hurl'd 
Himse.f into the scale, and eavM a world • 



THE VEILED PRCPHET OF KHORASSAN. 83 

For this he still lives on, careless of all 
The wreaths that glory on his path lets fell ; 
For this alone exists — like lightning- fire 
To speed one bolt of vengeance, and expire ! 

But safe as yet, that spirit of evil Hves ; 
With a small band of desperate fugitives, 
That last sole stubborn fragment, left unriven 
Of the proud host that late stood fronting heaven, 
He gain'd Mkrou — breath' d a short curse of 

blood 
O'er his lost throne — then pass'd the Jihon's 

flood,* 
And gatltering all, whose madness or beltef 
Still saw a Saviour in their downfall'n Chief, 
Rais'd the white banner within Neksheb's 

gates, t 
And there, untam'd, th' approaching conqueror 

waits. 
Of all his haram, all that busy hive, 
With music and with sweets sparkling alive, 
He took but one, the partner of his flight. 
One, not for love — not for her beauty's light — 
For Zelica stood withering 'midst the gay, 
Wan as the blossom that fell yesterday 
From the Alma tree and dies, while overhead 
To-day's young flowers springing in its stead ! f 



* The ancient Oxus. 
t A oily of Transoxiania. 

J " You never can cast vjur eres on this tree, but yon 
raen*. there either blossoms Dr fruit ; ^iid as the oloaBora 



^ THE VEILED PROPHET CF KH051ASSAW. 

No, not foi love — the deepest damn'd mr.st be 
Touch' d with heaven's glory, ere such fiends a* 

he 
Can feel one glimpse of love's divinity ! 
5ut no, she is his victim; — there lie all 
Her charms for him — charms that can never pall 
As long as hell within his heart can stir, 
Pr ocie faint trace of heave", is left in her. 
To work an angel's rmn, — to .behold 
As white a page as virtue e'er unroll' d 
Blacken beneath his touch, into a scroll 
Of damning sins, seal'd with a burning soul — 
This is his triumph ; this the joy accurst, 
That ranks him, among demons, all but first ! 
This gives the victim, that before him lies 
Blighted and lost, a gloiy in his eyes, 
A light as that with which hell-fire illumes 
The ghastly, writhing wretch whom it con- 
sumes ! 
But other tasks row wait him — tasks tha* 
need 
All the deep daringness of thought and deed 
With which the Dives* have gifted him — for 

mark, 
Over yon plains, v/hich night had else made 
dark. 



Imps undernpath on the ^touik.',. (which is frequently 
overed with these K.iArp'.e-colourefl flowers,; otheri eomo 
Ifth in their slead." etc. e\c.---Nieuhqff^. 
* The Demons of Persian mythology. 



THE VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN. 87 

Those lanterns, countless as the winged lights 
That spangle LxDiA'sficldsonshowery nights *— 
•^ar as their formidable gleams they shed, 
The mighty' tents of the beleagu'rer spread, 
Glimmering along th' horizon's dusky line, 
^nd thence in nearer circles, till they shme 
Vmong the founts and groves, o'er which the 

town 
n all its arm'd magnificence looks down. 
f et, fearless, from his lofty battlements 
VIoKANNA views that muUitude of tents; 
STay, smiles to think that, though entoil'd, beset, 
>f ot less than myriads dare to front him yet ;— 
rhat, friendless, throneless, he thus stands at 

bay, 
E'en thus a match for myriads such as they ! 
•' Oh! for a sweep of that dark angel's wing, 
Who brush' d the thousands of th' Assyrian Kmgl 
To darkness in a moment, that I might 
People hell's chambers with yon host to-night! 
But come what may, let who will grasp the 

throne. 
Caliph or Prophet, Man alike shall groan ; 
Let who will torture him, Priest— Caliph- 
King — 
Alike this loathsome world of his shall rmg 



* Carreri mentions the fire-fi:e8 in India during th« 
rainy season. ---See his Trwe/s. rn» ... 

t'gennacheriV,, cfUed bj the or.entals King of Mous 
»al.- -D'Herbelot. 



i8 THE VEILED PROPHET OF KHOKASSAB. 

With victims' shrieks and howlingsof the slave-- 
Sounds, that shall glad me ev'n within my 

grave.'' 
Thus to himself— but to the scanty train 
Still left around him, a far different strain: — 
" Glorious defenders of the sacred Crown 
I bear from Heav'n, whose light, nor blood shall 

drown 
l\or shadow of earth cciipse , — before whose 

gems 
The paly pomp of this world's diadems, 
The crown of Gf.rashid, the pillar' d throne 
Of Pakviz,*" and the heron crest that shone, t 
Magnificent, o'er Ali's beauteous eyes,|: 
Fade hke the stars when morn is in the skies: 
Warriors, rejoice — the port, to which we've 

pass'd 
O'er destiny's dark wave, beams out at last! 
Victory's our own — 'tis written in that Book 
Upon whose leaves none but the angels look. 
That Islam's sceptre shall beneath the power 
Of her great foe fall broken in that hour, 
When the moon's mighty orb, before all eyes 



♦ Chosroes. For a descrip'ion of his Throne or Pa 
lace, Bce Gibbon and IVHerbelot. 

t " The crown ofGerashid is cloudj and tarnished be- 
fore the heron tuft of thy turban. "-••From one of the 
elegies or songs in praise of Ali, written in characters of 
gold roTind the gallerj of Abhas's tcmb.^^-See Chardin 

+ "Thebeauiy of'Ali's ejes was so remarkable, thai 
•iene'er the Persians would' Jescribe anj thing as Io?ely 



THE VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAJf. 89 

From Neksheb's Holy Well portentiously shaJJ 

rise! 
Now turn and see !" — 

They turn'd, and, as he spoke, 
A sudden splendor all around them broke, 
And they beheld an orb, ample and bright, 
Rise from the Holy Well, and cast its light 
Round the rich city and the plain for miles*— 
Flinging such radiance o'er the gilded liles 
Of many a dome and fair-roof'd manaret, 
As autumn suns shed round them when they set 
Instant from all who saw th' illusive sign 
A murmur broke — " Miraculous ! divine !" 
The Gheber bow'd, diinking his idol Star 
Had wak'd, and bm"st impatient through thebai 
Of midnight, to inflame him to the war! 
While he of Moussa's creed, saw, in that ray, 
The glorious light which, in his freedom's day, 
Had rested on the Ark.t and now again 
Shone out to bless the breaking of his chain! 

" To victory !" is at once the cry of all — 
Nor stands Mokanna loitering at that call; 



Ihej say it is Ayn Hali, or the Eyes of Alu^—CfuB^ 
thn. 

* " II amusa pendant deux mois lepeupledela villa de 
Nekhscheb en faisant sortir <outes leg nui's du fond d'un 
puits iin corps lurnineux semblable a la Lune,qui portait 
ea hmiiere jusqu'a la distance de plusieurs milles."--- 
D''Herbtlot. Hence he was callad Sazendehmah, or the 
Moon -maker. 

t The Sliechinah ta'led Sakinret in the Koraw --"Sea 
t>a/e'» Note, chap. L 



90 THE VEiLED PROPHET Of KKOKASSAN. 

But instant the huge gates are flung aside, 
And forth, Hke a diminutive mountain-tide 
Into the boundless sea, they speed their course 
Right on into the Moslem's mighty force. 
The wat-^hmen of the camp — who, in theii 

rouno'?, 
Had paus'd and e'en forgot the punctual sounds 
Of the small drum with which they count the 

night,* 
T-) gdze upon that supernatural light — 
Now sinks beneath an unexpected arm, 
And in a death-groan give their last alarm. 
" On for the lamps *hat Hght yon lofty screen, 1 
Nor blunt your blades with massacre so mean ; 
There rests the Caliph — speed — one lucky lancfe 
May now achieve mankind's deliverance I" 
Desperate the die — such as they only cast, 
Who venture for a world, and stake their last. 
But Fate's no longer with him- -blade for blade 
Springs up to meet them through the glimmei- 

ing shade, 
And, as the clash is heard, new log'ons soon 
Pour to the spot — like bees of Kau5ER00N+ 

• The parts of the night are made knowr as well hy in- 
Btrnmenla of mtisic, as by the rounds of ihe vvatchmen 
with cries and small drums. ---See Burder^. Oriental Cua- 
toms, vol. ii. p. 119. 

t " The Serrapnrda, high screens of red rloth, stiffened 
with cane, used 1o enclose a consideratile Sj^ace round tha 
royal tents. "---A'o^es on the BcJiardanush. 

J" From the groves of o'-ange trees at K anzeroon th« 
bees cull a celebra'.ed h>ney "■••Moner's Travels. 



THE VhlLED PKOrHET OF i;n!OKASSAN. i? 

the s.iriU timbrel's summons — till, at length, 
e mighty camp swarms out in all its strength, 
(1 back ttj Neksheb's gates, covering the plain 
ith random slaughter, drives the adventurous 

train : 
nong the last of n\ horn, the silver Veil 
seen glit'ering at times, like the white sail 
some totes' d vessel, on a stormy night 
telling the tempest's momentary light ! 
!\.nd hath not this brought the proud spirit low ? 
)r dash'd his brow, nor check'd his daring ? No. 
lOugh ha.'f the wretches, whom at night he led 
thronesi and victory, he disgraced and dead, 
t raornirg hears him, with unshrinking crest 
11 vaunt of thrones, and victory to the rest. 
id they beheved him ! — oh, the lover may 
strust thrt look which steals his soul away ; — 
le babe may cease to think that it can play 
ith heaven's rainbow — alchymists may doubt 
le shining gold their crucible gives out ; 
It Faith, fanatic Faith, once wedded fast 
some duar falsehood, hugs it to the last. 
A.nd wehth' Impostor knew all lures and arts, 
lat LuciiSR e'er taught to tangle hearts ; 
br, 'mid ihese last bold working? of his plot 
gainst men's souls, is Zel"'ca forgot, 
-fated ZtEiCA ! had reason been 
ivnke, thiough half the horrors thou hast seen 
lou never could' st have borne it — Death had 

come 
; once ani takeo. thy wrung spirit home. 



'*2 THE VEILEL IfiOFHET OF KHC RASSAW. 

But 'twas not so — a torpor, a suspense 
Of thought, almost of Ufe, came o'er th' intenr 
And passionate struggles of that fearful night, , 
When her last hope of peace and heav'n too 

flight : 
And though, at times, a gleam of frenzy brokil 
As through some dull volcano's veil of smoke e 
Ominous flashings now and then will start, 
Wliich show the fire's still busy at hs heart ; 
!f et was she mostly wrapp'd in sullen gloom, , 
Not such as Azim's, brooding o'er its doom, 
And calm without, as is the brow of death, 
"While busy worms are gnawing underneath !-! 
But in a blank and pulseless torpor, free 
From thought or pain, a seal'd up apathy, 
Which left her oft, with scarce one living thrili 
The cold pale victim of her torturer's will. . 

Again as in Merou, he had her deck'd, 
Gorgeously out, the Priestess of the sect; ' 
And led her glittering forth before the eyes 
Of his rude train, as to a sacrifice; 
Pallid as she, the young, devoted Bride 
Of the fierce Nile ,when, deck'd in all theprid 
Of nuptial pomp, she sinks into his tide !* | 



* " A custom still subsisting at this day, seems tome 
prove that the Egvpfians formerly sacrificed a young yi 
gin to the god of the Kile ; for they now make a statue 4 
earth in the sliapetif a girl^ to \diich they give the name |, 
the Betrotled Bride, and throw it into'lhe river."— fl^, 
vary. 



THE TETLED PIvOl'ffET OF KKORASSAN. 93 

(I while the wretched maid hung down her 

head, 
id stood as one just risen irom the dead, 
nid that gazing crowd, the fiend would fell 
3 credulous slaves it was some chaim or spell 
ssessed her now, — and from that darken' d 

trance 
ould dawn ere long their Faith's deliverance, 
if, at times, goaded by guilty shame, 
r soul was rous'd, and words of wildnesa 

came, 
stant the bold blasphemer would translate 
it ravings into oracles of fate, 
ould hail Heav'n's signals in her flashing eyes 
id call her shrieks the language of the skies! 
But vain at length his arts — despair is seen 
ithering around ; and famine comes to glean 
1 that the sword had left unreap'd :— ^in vain 
; morn and eve across the northern plain 
3 looks impatient for the promis'd spears 
f the wild hordes and Tartar mountaineers, 
hey come not — while his fierce beleaguerere 

pour 
igines of havoc in, unknown before, 
nd horrible as new ;* — javelins, 'hat fly 



* The Greek fire, which was occasionally lent hy th« 
nperors to their allies. " II was," says Gibbon, " eithet 
inched in red hot balls of stone and" iron, or dnrted in 
h)ws and javelins, twisted rovind with flax and to^ 
lich hsd deeplj imbiV id the inflammable oil." 



y4 THE VEILED PROPHET OF XHOP. \SSAN. 

Enwreath'd with smoky flames through the dal; 

sky, 
And red-hot globes, that, opening as they mouiu 
Discharge, as from a kindled Naptha fount, 
Showers of a consuming fire o'er all below'* ; 
Looking, as through th' illumin'd ni^ht theygi 
Like those wild birds'^ that by the Mbgicians, a( 
At festivals of fire, w^ere sent aloft 
Into the air, with blazing faggots tied 
To their huge wings, scattering combuatidi 
-J wide ! 

Ail Right, the groans of wretches who exph-e.: 
In agony, beneath these darts of fire, 
Ring through the city— while, descending o'eie 
Its shrines and domes and streets of sycamore :-: 
i^ Its lone bazaars, with their bright cloths of go'lo 
j Since the last peaceful pageant left unroU'd ;— 
/ Its beauteoue marble baths, whose idle jets, 
f Now gush with blood ;— and its tall minarets, 
That late have stood up in the evening glare 
Of the red sun, unhallow'd by a prayer : — 
O'er each, in turn, the dreadful flame-bolts falfi 
And death and conflagration throuyhcut all 



♦ " At the great festival of fire, called t^.e Sheb S«sw> 
they used to set fire to large bunches of d'y combusiiblfl, 
fastened round with beasts and birds, whit/) beinglhen li » 
looBe, the air and eartl-. appeared one gre^ r illumination 
end as these terrified creatures naiurally f'ed to the woo 1 
for shelter it is easy io conceive the coni'agralionB th«lil 
ptodnceil.^ '■■■ Jiichm-dson's Dissertaiion. 



THE VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAIT. 95 

The desolate city hold hish festival ! 

M .)KANNA sees the world is his no more ; -\ 
Due sting at parting, and his grasp is o'er. 
' What : drooping now ?"— thus, with unbluhs.'i. 

ing cheek, "1^ 

le hails the few, who yet can hear him speak, / 
Df all those famished slaves, around him lying,! 
^nd by the light of blazing temples dying ;~ \ 
' What ! drooping now ?— now, when at length 

we press 
lome o'er the very threshhold of success; 
Vhen Alia from our ranks hath thinn'd away 
•^hose grosser branches, that kepi out his ray 
)f favor from us, and we stand at length 
Teirs of his light and children of his strength, 
^he chosen few who shall survive the fall 
)i" kings and thrones, triumphant over all ! 
Tave you then lost, weak murmurers as you 

are, 
'lII faith in him, who was your Lio-ht, youi 

Star ? 

[ave you forgot the eye of glory, hid 
|eneath this Veil, the flashing of whose lid 
■ould, hke a sun-stroke of the desert, wither 
Millions of such as yonder Chief brings hither? 
ong have its lightnings slept— too long— but 

now 
.11 earth shall feel th' unveiling of this brow ! 
,o-night — yes, sainted men ! This very night 
;bid you all to a fair festal rite, 
^''here, having deep refreshed each weary limb 



96 THE VEILED PROPireT OF KHORASSAN. 

Wjith. viands such as feast Heaven's cherubim, 
Afnd kindled up your souls, now sunk and dim, 
With that pure wine the dark-ey'd maids above 
Keep seal'd with precious musk, for those they 

love* — 
I will myself uncurtain in your sight 
The wonders of this brow's ineffable light ; 
Then lead you forth, and with a wink disperse 
Yon myriads, howling through the universe !" 
Eager they listen — while each accent darts 
New life into their chill'd and hope-sick hearts; 
Such treacherous life as the cool draught sup- 
plies 
To him upon the stake, who drinks and dies ! 
Wildly they point their lances to the light 
'Of the fast sinking sun, and shout '* to-night !' 
♦* To-night," their Chief re-echoes, in a voice 
Of fiend-like mockery that bids hell rejoice ! 
Deluded victims — never hath this earth 
Seen mourning half so mournful as their mirth ! 
Here, to the few, whose iron frames had stood 
This racking waste of famine and of blood. 
Faint, dying wretches clung, from whom the 
shout ' I 

Of triumph like a maniac's laugh broke out; — I 
There, others, lighted by the smouldering fire, 



•" The righteous =!hall be siven to drink of pure wina 
sealed ; the seal whe; •-of shall be musk."--- Koran, ehs»^ 



THE VEILED FROPHEl O;' KHORASSA.t. 97 

anc d, like wan ghostii about a funeral pyie, 
mong the dead and dying, strew' d around ;-;- 
hile some pale wretch look'd on, and from hia 

wound 
lucking the fiery dart by which he bled, 
1 ghastly transport wav'd it o'er his head ! 
'Twas more than midnight now — a fearful 

pause 
ad follow' d the long shouts, the wild applause, 
hat lately from those royal gardens burst, 
/■here the Veil'd demon held his feast accurst, 
(''hen Zelica— alas, poor ruin'd heart, 

I every horror doom'd to bear its part ! — 
/"as bidden to the banquet by a slave, 

/"ho, while his quivering lip the summons gave, 
rew black, as though the shadows of the grave 
ompass'd him round, and, ere he could repeat 
:is message through, fell lifeless at her feet ! 
huddering she went— a soul-felt pang of fear, 
. presage that her own dark doom was near, 
.ous'd every feeling and brought Reason back 
►nee more, to writhe her last upon the rack. 

II round seem'd tranquil — e'en the foe had 
ceas'd, 

lS if aware of that demoniac feast, 

[is fiery bolts ; and though the heavens look'd 

red, 
Twas but some distant conflagration s spread, 
lut hark '.—she stops— she listens — dreadful 

tone ! 
T'xB her tormentor's laugh— and now, a groan, 



98 THE VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAW. 



J 



A long death-groan comes with it — can this 
The place of mirth , the bower of revelry ? 
She enters. Holy Alla, what a sight 
Was there before her ! By the glimmering light i 
Of the pale dawn, mixed with the flare of brandsi 
That round lay burning, dropp'd from lifeless ■ 

hands, 
She saw the board, in splendid mockery spread,] 
Rich censers breathing — garlands overhead, — 
The urns, the cups, from which they late had ( 

quaff' d. 
All gold and gems, but— what had been thei 

draught ? 
Oh ! who need ask, that saw those livid guests,^ 
With theft swoU'n heads sunk, blackening, oni 

their breasts. 
Or looking pale to Heaven with glassy glare 
As if they sought but saw no mercy there ; 
As if they felt, though poison rack'd then 

through. 
Remorse the deadlier torment of the two ! 
While some the bravest, the hardiest in the trail 
Of their false Chief, who on the battle-plain 
Would have met death with transport by higi 

side. 
Here mute and helpless gasp'd ; — but as they; 

died, 
Look' d horrible vengeance with their eyes' last- 

strain, 
And clench' d the slackening hand at him in vain. 
Dreadful it was to see the ghastly stare, 



THE VEILEB PjIOPHET OF KH0K4.SSAX. 99 

The slony look of horror and despair, 
Which some of these expiring victims cast 
Upon their soul's tormentor to the last ; — 
Upon that mocking Fiend, whose Veil, now 

rais'd, 
Show'd them, as in death's agonj'^ they gaz'd, 
Not the long promised light, the brow whose 

beaming 
Was to come forth, all conquering, all redeem- 
ing ; 
But features horribler than HeH e'er trac'd 
lOn its own brood; — no Demon of the Waste,* 
No church- yard Ghole, caught Ungering in the 

light 
Of the bless'd sun, e'er blasted human sight 
With lineaments so foul, so fierce as those 
Th' Impostor now, in grinning mockery, shows. 
There, ye wise Saints, behold your Light, youi 
Star,— 
Ye would be dupes and victims, and ye are. 
Is it enough ? or must I, while a thrill 
■Lives in your sapient bosoms, cheat you still ? 
Swear that the burning death ye feel within. 
Is but a trance whh which Heav'n's joys begin ; 
That this foul visage, foul as e'er disgrac'd 
I 

* ''The ^fghauns believe each of the numerous soli- 
tudes and deserts of their country to be inhabited by a 
lonely jemon, whom they call the Ghoolee Beeabau. o» 
.Spirit jf the Waste. They often illustrate the wi!dne8« 
of aii^ sequestered tribe by saying, they are wild aa the 
Demon of <he 'WaBXe."~E(phinst<me's Caubul. 



100 THE VEILED PKOPHET OF KHORASSAK. 

E'en monstrous man, is — after God's own 

taste ; 
And that — ^but see I — ere I have half-way said 
My greetings through, th' uncourteous souls are 

fled. 
Farewell, sweet spirits ! not in vain ye die, 
If Eblis loves you half so well as I. — 
Ha, my younfif bride ! — 'tis well — take thou thy 

seat; 
Nay come — no shuddering — didst thou never 

meet 
The dead before ? — they grac'd our wedding, 

sweet ; 
And these, my guests to-night, have brimm'd so 

true 
Their parting cups, that thou shalt pledge one 

too. 
But — how is this ? — all empty ? — all drunk up ? 
Hot lips have been before thee in the cup. 
Young bride, — yet stay— one precious drop re- 
mains. 
Enough to warm a gentle Priestess' veins ; — 
Here, drink— and should thy lover's conquering 

arms 
Speed hither, ere thy lip lose all its charms, 
Give him but half this venom in thy kiss, 
And I'll forgive my haughty rival's bliss ! 

"for me — I too must die — but not like thes« 
Vile, rankling things, to fester in the b'-eeze; 
To have this brow in ruffian triumph shown, 



THE VEILED mOPHET OF KHORASSAN. 101 

With all death's grimness added to its own, 
\nd rot to dust beneath the taunting eyes 
31 slaves, exclain^ing ' There his godship lies !' 
>^o_cursed race— since first my soul drew 

breath, 
riiey've been my dupes, and shall be, even in 

death, 
rhou see st yon cistern in the shade— 'tis fiU'd 
V^^ith burning drugs, for this last hour distill'd^ 
There will I plunge me in that liquid flame — 
Fit bath to lave a dying Prophet's frame ! 
rhere perish, all— ere pulse of thine shall fail— 
Nor leave one hmb to tell mankind the tale. 
3o shall my votaries, wheresoe'er they rave. 
Proclaim that Heav'n took back the Saint it gave ; 
That I've but vanish'd from this earth awhile, 
To come again with bright unshrouded smile ! 
So shall they build me altars in their zeal, 
Where knaves shall minister, and fools shall 

Where Faith may mutter o'er her mystic spell. 
Written in blood— and Bigotry may swell 
The sail he spreads for Heaven with blasts irom 

Hell ! 
So shall my banner, through long ages be 
The rallying sign of fraud and anarchy ; — 
Kings yet unborn shall rue Mokanna's name, 
And thougli I die. my spirit, still the same, 
Shall walk abroad in all the stormy stnfe. 
And guilt, and blood, that were 'ts bliss m life 
But \ ark ! their battering engine shakes the wall 



l02 THE VEILED PROPHET OF KHL RA5SAN. 

VVliy let it shake — thus I can twave them all : 
No trace of me shall greet them, when they come, 
And I can trust thy Faith, for — thou' It be dumb. 
Now mark how readily a wretch hke me, 
In one bold plunge, commences Deity !" 

He sprung and sunk, as the last words were 
said — 
Quick clos'd the burning waters o'er his head. 
And Zelica was left — within the ring 
Of those wide walls the only living thing; 
The only wretched one, still curst with breath, 
In all that frightful wilderness of death ! 
More like some bloodless ghost, such as, they 

tell. 
In the lone Cities of the Silent* dwell. 
And there, unseen of all but Alla, sit 
Each by its own pale carcass, watching it. 

But morn is up, and a fresh warfare stirs 
Throughout the camp of the beleaguerers. 
Their Globes of fire, (the dread artillery, lent 
By Greece to conquering Mahadi,) are spent; 
And now the scorpion's shaft, the quarry sent 
From high balistas, and the shielded throng 
Of soldiers swinging the huge ram along, — 
All speak the impatient Islamite's mtent 

* " Tliey have all a srreat reverence for burial-grounds, 
which Ihej sornelinies call b.v the poeiical name of Citiei 
of Ihe Silent, and which ihey people with the ghosts of 
the departed, who sit each at the head of his own grava 
invisible to nnorlal e3<iS.^'---Elphimtone 



THE VEILED PROPHET OF KHOKASSAN ^"2 

To try, at length, if tower and battlement, 
Ind bastion' d wall, be not less iiard to win, 
jess tough to break down than the hearts within, 
''irst in impatience and in toil is he, 
The burning Azim— oh ! could he but see- 
rh' Impostor once alive within his grasp, 
'»fot the gaunt lion's hug, nor Boa's clasp, 
i^ould match the gripe of vengeance, or keep 

pace 

iVith the fell heartiness of Hate's embrace ! 
^.oud rings the pond'rous ram against the 
walls ; 
N'ow shake the ramparts, now a buttress falls ; 
But still no breach— "once more, one mighty 

swing 

3f all your beams, together thundering !" 
There— the wall shakes— the shouting troops 
exult — 
Quick, quick discharge your weightiest cata- 
pult . 
Right on that spot,— and Neksheb is our own! 
I Tis done— the battlements come crashing down. 
And the huge wall, by that stroke riv'n in two. 
Yawning, like some old crater, rent anew, 
Shows the dim, desolate city smokiig through! 
But strange! no signs of hfe— nought living 

seen 

Above, below— what can this stillness mean ? 
A minute's pause suspends all hearts and eyes— 
In through the breach," impetuous Atiim cries; 
But the cool Caliph, fearful of some wile 
[n this blank stillness checks the troops awhile. 



104 THE VEILED PROPHET OF IHORASSAN. 

Just then, a figure, with slow step, advanc'd 
Forth from the ruin'd walls ; and, as there 

glanc'd 
A sunbeam over it, all eyes could see 
The well-known Silver Veil! — '"Tis He, 'tia 

He, 
MoKANNA, and alone !" they shout around; 
Young AziM from his steed springs to the 

ground — 
'* Mine, Holy Caliph !" mine he cries, "the task 
To crush yon daring wretch — 'tis all I ask." 
Eager he darts to meet the demon foe, 
Who still across wide heaps of ruins slow 
And falteringly comes, till they are near; 
Then, with a bound rushes on Azim's spear ; 
And, casting off the veil in falling, shows — 
Oh! — 'tis his Zelica's Hfe-blood that flows! 
" I meant not, Azim," soothingly she said. 
As on his trembling arm she leant her head. 
And, looking in his face, saw anguish there 
Beyond all wounds the quivering flesh can bear— 
" I meant not thoit should' st have the pain of this ; 
Though death, with thee thus tasted, is a bliss 
Thou would' st not rob me of, didst thou but 

know 
How oft I've pray'd to God I might die so ! 
But the Fiend's venom was too scant and slow; 
To Hnger on were maddening — and I thought 
If once that Veil — naj', look not on it — caught 
The eyes oj your fierce soldiery, 1 should be 



VBi VEILED PROPHET OF KHOEAJSAN. 103 

Struck by a thousand death-darLs instantly. 
But this is sweeter — oh ! believe me, yes — 
I would not change this sad, but dear caress, 
This death within thy arms I would not give 
For the most smiling hfe the happiest live ! 
All, that stood dark and drear before the eye 
Of my stray'd soul, is passing swiftly by; 
A light comes o'er me, from those looks of love? 
Like thr first dawn of mc-cy from above ; 
And if thy lips but tell me I'm forgiv'n, 
Angels will echo the blest words in heaven ! 
But live, my Azm ; — oh ! to call thee mine 
Thus once again ! my Azim — dream divine ! 
Live, if thou e"cr lov'dst me, if to meet 
Thy Zelica he. rafter would be sweet, 
Oh live to pray for her — to bend the knee 
Morning and night before that Deity, 
To whom pure lips and hearts without a stain, 
As thine are, Azim, never breath' d in vain. 
And pray that he may pardon her, — may take 
Compassion on her soul for thy dear sake, 
And, nought remembering but her love to thee, 
Make her all thine, all His, eternally ! 
G ) to those happy fields where first we tvdn'd 
Our youthful hearts together — every wind. 
That meets thee there, fresh from the well- 
known flowers, 
Will bring the sweetness of those innocent houri 
Back to thy soul, and thou may'st feel again 
For thy poor Zelica as thou didst then. 
So shall thy orizons, like dew that flies 
To lieav'n upon the morning's sunshine, rise 



106 THE VEILED TROrHET OF K I0K4.SSAN. 

With all love's earliest ardor to the skies' 
And should they — but, alas ! my senses fail — 
Oh for one minute ! should thy prayers prevail— 
If pardon' d souls may from that World of Blisa 
Reveal their joys to those they love in this, — 
I'll come to thee — in some sweet dream — and 

tell— 
Oh heaven — I die — dear love! farew^ell, fare- 
well!" 
Time fleeted — years on years had pass'd 
away, 
Ana few of those who, on that mournful day, 
Had stood, with pity in their eyes, to see 
The maiden's death, and the youth's agony, 
Were living still — when, by a rustic grave 
Beside the swift Amoo's transparent wave. 
An aged man, who had grown aged there 
By that lone grave, morning and night in prayer, 
For the last, time knelt down — and, though the 

shade 
Of death hung darkening o'er him, there play'd 
A gleam of rapture on his eye and cheek. 
That brighten' d even Death — hke the last streak 
Of intense glory in th' horizon's brim. 
When night o'er all the rest hangs chill and dim 
His soul had seen a vision while he slept ; 
She for whose spirit he had pray'd and wept 
So many years, had come to him, all drest 
Jn angel's smiles, and told him she was blesi. 



THE VEILED PROPHET C.F KHORASSAN. 107 

For this the old man breath' d his thanks and 

died, — 
And there, upon the banks of that loved tide, 
Ke and his Zr'.ica sleep side by side. 



The story of the Veiled Prophet of Khoras- 
san being ended, they were now doomed to hear 
Fadladeen'S criticisms upon it. A series of 
disappointments and accidents had occurred to 
the learned Chamberlain during the journey. 
In the first place, those couriers stationed, as in 
the reign of Shah Jehan, between Delhi and the 
Western coast of India, to secure a constant sup- 
ply of mangoes for the royal table, had, by some 
cruel irregularity, failed in their duty ; and to eat 
any mangoes but those of Mazagong v/as, oi 
course, impossible. In the next place, the ele- 
phant, laden with his nne antique porcelain, had, 
in an unusual fit of liveliness, shattered the 
whole set to pieces : — an irreparable loss, as 
many of the vessels were so exquisitely old aa 
to have been used under the emperors Yan and 
Chun, who reigned may ages before the dynasty 
of Tang, His Koran too, supposed to be the 
identical copy between the leaves of which Ma- 
homet's favorite pigeon used to nestle, had been 
mislaid by his Koran-bearer three whole days ; 
not without much spiritual alarm to Fadladeen, 
who, though professing to hold, whh other loyal 
and orthodox mussulmaiis, that salvation could 
only be found in the Koran was strongly suspected 



/OS LALLA ROOKH. 

of believing m his heart, that it could only be 
found in his own particular copy of it. When 
to all these grievances is added the obstinacy of 
the cooks, in putting the pepper of Canara into 
his dishes instead of the cinnamon of Serendib, 
we may easily suppose that he came to the task 
of criticism with, at least, a sufficient degree of 
irritability for the purpose. 

"In order," said he, importantly s-.vingirg 
about his chaplet of pearls, "to convey with 
clearness my opinion of the story this young 
man has related, it is necessary to take a review 
of all the stories that have ever — " My good 
Fadladeen ;" exclaimed the princess, interrupt, 
ing him, "we really do not deserve that you 
should give yourself so miich trouble. Your 
opinion of the poem we have just heard, will, I 
have no doubt, be abundantly edifying, without 
any further waste of your valuable erudition." 
" If that be all," repUed tbe critic, — evidently 
mortified at not being allowed to show how much 
he knew about every thing but the subject im- 
mediately before him — "If that be all that is re- 
quired, the matter is easily despatched." He 
then proceeded to analyze the poem, in that 
strain, (so well known to the unfortunate bards 
of Delhi,) whose censures were an infliction from 
which few recovered, and whose very praises 
were like the honey extracted from the bitter 
flowers of the aloe. The chief personages of tho 
Btory were, if he rightly understood them, an ill- 



AN OHIENTAL ROJ.'ANCE. lOd 

favored gentleman, %vith a veil over h's face ; a 
young lady, whose reason went and cair.e accord- 
ing as it suited the poet's convenience to be sen- 
sible or otherwise ; — and a youth in one of those 
hideous Bucharian bonnets, who took the afore- 
said gentleman in a veil for a divinity. "From 
such materials," said he, what can be expected? 
— after rivalling each other in long speeches and 
absurdities, through some thousands of lines as 
indigestable as the filberds of Berdaa, our friend 
in the veil jumps into a tub of aquafortis ; the 
young lady dies in a set speech, whose only 
recommendation is that it is her last ; and the 
lover lives on to a good old age, for the laudable 
purpose of seeing her ghost, which he at last 
happily accomplishes and expires. This, you 
will allow, is a fair summary of the story ; and 
if Nasser, the Arabian merchant, told no better, 
our Holy Prophet (to whom be all honor and 
glory !) had no need to be jealous of his abilities 
for story-telling."* 

With respect to the style, it was worthy of 
the matter ; — it had not even these politic contri- 
vances of structure, which make up for the com 
raonness of the thoughts by the pecuharity of the 

• La lecture de ces Fables plaisatt si fort aux Arabes, 
que, quarid Mahomet les entretenait de I'Histoire de 
I'Aucien Testament, ils lea meprisaient, lui disant que 
ceiles que NaSser leur racontait etaient beaucoup plu9 
bellea Cette preference aftira a Nasser la malediction de 
Mahomet et de toua tea ^aciples.- ■•B^Herbelot, 



no tALLA ROOKH. 

manner, nor that stately poetical phraseology by 
which sentiments, mean in themselves, like the 
blacksmith's* apron converted into a banner, are 
60 easily gilt and embroidered into consequence 
Then, as to the versification, it M^as, to say no 
worse of it, execrable : it had neither the copious 
flow of Ferdosi, the sweetness of Hafez, nor the 
Bententious march of Sadi ; but appeared to him, 
in the uneasy heaviness of its movements, to have 
been mod-elled upon the gait of a very tired dro- 
medary. The licenses too in which it indulged 
were unpardonable ; — for instance this hne, and 
the poem abounded with such ; — 

" Like the faini, exquisite music of a dream-" 
"What critic that can count," said Fadladeen, 
*' and has his full complement of fingers to count 
withal, would tolerate for an instant such sylla- 
bic superfluities ?" — He here looked round and 
discovered that most of his audience were asleep ; 
while the ghmmering lamps seemed inchned to 
follow their example. It became necessary, 
therefore, however painful to himself, to put an 
end to his valuable animadversions for the pre- 
sent, and he accordingly concluded, with an air 
of dignified candour, thus : "Notwithstanding 
the observations which I have thought it my duty 
«.o make, it is by no means my wish to discourage 

♦The hlaclvsmith Ga >, who successftilly resisted tha 
Ijrani 7ohak, and whost apron became the Royal stan 
dard ol' Persin 



AN (jRIENTAL ROMANCE. )11 

the }oung man : so far from it, indeed, that if he 
will but totally alter his style of writing and 
ihinking I have very Uttle doubt that I shall be 
vastly pleased with him. 

Some days elapsed, after this harangue of the 
Great Chamberlain, before I^alla Rookh could 
venture to ask for another story. The youth 
was still a welcome guest in the pavilion ; to one 
heart, perhaps too dangerously welcome—but all 
mention of poetry was, as if by common con- 
Bent avoided. Though none of the party had 
much respect for Fadladeen, yet his censures, 
thus magisterially delivered, evidently made an 
impression on them all. The poet himself, to 
whom criticism was quite a new operation, (be- 
ing wholly unknown in that Paradise of the 
Indies, Cashmere,) felt the shock as it is gener- 
ally felt at first, till use has made it more tolerji- 
ble to the patient ; — the ladies began to suspect 
that they ought not to be pleased, and seemed to 
conclude that there must have been much good 
sense in what Fadladeen said, from its having 
set them all so soundly to sleep ;-— while the self- 
complacent Chamberlain was left to trmmph in 
the idea of having for the hundred and fiftieth 
time in his life, extinguished a Poet. Lalla 
RooKH alone — and love knew vv^hy — -persisted 
in being delighted with all she had heard, and in 
resolving to near more as speedily as possible. 
Her m*nner, however, of first returning to the 
subject was unlucky. It was while they rested 



1!2 LALLA KOOKH. 

during the heat of noon near a fountain, on 
which some hand had rudely traced those well- 
known words from the Garden of Sadi — " Many, 
like me, have viewed this fountain, but they are 
gone, and their eyes are closed forever !" — that 
she took occasion from the melancholy beauty 
of this passage, to dwell upon tJie charms ol 
poetry in general. " It is true," she said, " few 
poets can imitate that sublime bird, which flies 
always in the air and never touches the earth ;* 
it is only once in many ages a Genius appears, 
whose words like those on the Western Moun- 
tain, last forever: — but still there are some, as 
delightful perhaps, though not so wonderful, 
who, if not stars over our head, are at least flow- 
ers along our path, and whose sweetness of the 
moment we ought gratefully to inhale, without 
qplling upon them for a brightness and a dura- 
bilhy beyond their nature. In short," continued 
she, blushing, as if conscious of being caught in 
an oration, "it is quite cruel that a poet can- 
not wander through his regions of enchantment 
without having a critic forever, hke the old Man 
of the sea upon his back. "t — Fadladeen, it was 
plain, took tWs last luckless allusion to himself, 
and would treasure it up in his mind as a whet- 
Btone for his next criticism. A sudden silence 
ensued ; and the Princess, glancing a look at 

• The Huma. 

t The Slorj cf Sinbad. 



AN ORIENTAL ROMAN. E. 113 

Ferj»morz, saw plainly she must wait for a 
more courageous moment. 

But the glories of Nature, and her wild, fra- 
grant airs, playing freshly over the current oi 
youthful spirits, will soon heal even deeper 
wounds than the dull Fadladecns of this world 
can inflict. In an evening or two after, they 
came to the small Valley of Gardens, whrchhad 
been planted by order of the Emperor for his fa- 
vorite sister Rochinara, during their progress to 
Cashmere, some years before ; and never was 
there a more sparkling assemblage of sweets, 
since the Gulzar-e-Irem, or Rose-bower of Irem. 
Every precious flower was there to be found, that 
poetry, or love, or religion has ever consecrated, 
from the dark hyacinth, to which Hafez com- 
pares his mistress's hair, to the Camalata, by 
whose rosy blossom the heaven of India is 
scented. As they sat in the cool fragrance of 
this delicious spot, and Lalla Rookh remarked 
that she could fancy it the abode of that flower- 
loving Nymph whom they worship in the tem- 
ples of Kathay, or one of those Peris, those 
beautiful creatures of the air, who live upon per- 
fumes, and to whom aplace hke this might make 
some amends for the Paradise they have lost— 
the young poet, in whose eyes she appeared, 
while she spoke, to be one of the bright spiritual 
creatures she was describing, said hesitatingly, 
that he remembered a Story of a Peri, which, if 
<he Princess had no objection, he would venture 



114 PARADfSE AND THE TERI. 

to relate. "It is," said he, with an appealing 
look to Fadladeen, "in a lighter and humbler 
strain than the other ;" then striking a few care- 
less but melancholy chords on his kitar, he thus 
began : — 

PARADISE AND THE PERI. 



One morn a Peri at the gate 
Of Eden stood, disconsolate ; 
And as she listen' d to the Springs 

Of Hfe within, like music flowing, 
And caught the light upon her wings 

Through the half-open'd portal glowing, 
She wept to think her recreant race 
Should e'er have lost that glorious place ! 

*' How happy," exclaimed this child of air, 
** Are the holy Spirits who wander there, 

'Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall: 
Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea. 
And the stars themselves have flowers for me. 

One blossom of heaven out-bboms them all* 

"Though sunny the lake of cool Cashmere, 
With its plane-tree Isle reflected clear,* 



* '* Numerous small islamls emcrsre from the Lake ol 
Cashmere. One i^ called C^>ar Cbenau, from the plan* 
Ireea upon it "■••Forster 



PARADISE AND THE PERI. 115 

A.nd sweetly the founts of that valley fall ; 
Though bright are the waters of Sing-su-ha"S 
And the golden floods tHft thitherward stray.* 
Yet — oh, 'tis only the Blest can say 

How the waters of Heaven outshine them all 

'' Go wing thy flight from star to star, 
From world to luminous world, as far 

As the universe spreads its flaming wall ; 
Take all the pleasures of all the spheres. 
And multiply each through endless years, 

One minute of Heaven is worth them all !** 

The glorious Angel who was keeping 
The gates of Light, beheld her weeping ; 
And, as he nearer drew and listen'd 
To her sad song, a tear-drop glisten'd 
Within his eyelids, like the spray 

From Eden's fountain, when it lies 
On the blue flow'r, which, Bramins say, 

Blooms no where but in Paradise! 
*' Nymph of a fair, but erring line !" 
Gently he s'^ad — " One hope is thine. 
*Tis writf jn in the Book of Fate, 

' The Peri yet may he forgiveii 
Who brings to this Eternal Gate 

The Gift that is most dear to Heaven .'' 

* " The Altsn Kol, or Golden River of Tibet, which 
runs into the I.ake« of Sine-sn-ha,v, has abundance of 
gold in i's sands, which t'lnploys the inhabitants all sum- 
mer in gathering \\ '^••-Pescription of Tibet in Pinkerton 



116 PARADISE AND THE PERI. 

Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin ; 
'7"is sweet to let the Pardon'd in !" 

Rapidly as comets run 

To th' embraces of the sun — 

Fleeter than the starry brands, 

Flung at night from angel hands * 

At those dark and daring sprites. 

Who would climb th' empyreal heights,-^ 

Down the blue vault the Peri flies, 

And, lighted earthward by a glance 
That just then broke from rooming's eyes 

Hung hovering o.'er our world's expanse. 

But w^hither shall the Spirit go 

To find this gift for Heav'n ? — " I know 

The wealth," she cries, " of evdry urn, 

In which unnumber'd rubies burn; 

Beneath the pillars of Chilminar ;t — 

I know where the Isles of Perfume are 

Many a fathom down in the sea. 

To the south of sun-bright Araby;!— 



* " The Mahomelans stippo^e that falling; stars are th« 
firebrands wherewith the qood angels drive awaj the bad, 
tkhen they approach too near the empyreum or verge ol 
*he Heavens. "-■-/'n/er. 

t " The Forty Pillars : so the Persians call the ruins of 
Peraepolis. If is imagined by them that this palace end 
the edifices at Balbec were built by Genii, for the purpose 
of hiding in their subterraneous caverns immense trea- 
sures, which still remain there. "--•Z''AVWcfor, Volney. 

• The Isles o I ""anchaia. 



PARADISE AND THE PERI. U7 

I know too where the Genii hid 
The jcwell'd cup of their King Jamshid,' 
With Life's elixir sparkling high — 
But gifts hke these are not for the sky. 
Where was there ever a gem that shone 
Like the steps of Alla's wonderful Throne ? 
And the Drops of Life — oh ! what would they ba 
In the boundless Deep of Eternity ?" 

While thus she mus'd, her pinions fann'd 
The air of that sweet Indian land, 
Whose air is balm ; whose ocean spreads 
O'er coral rocks and amber beds ; 
Whose mountains pregnant by the beam 
Of the warm sun, with diamonds teem ; 
Whose rivulets are like rich brides, 
Lovely, with gold beneath their tides ; 
Whose sandal groves and bowers of spice 
Might be a Peri's Paradise ! 
But crimson now her rivers ran 

With human blood — the smell of death 
Came reeking from those spicy bowers, 
And man, the sacrifice of man, 

Mingled his taint with every breath 
Upwafted from the innocent flowers ! 
Land of the Sun ! what foot invades 
Thy pagods and thy pillar'd shades — 
Thy cavern shrines, and idol stones, 



t " The cup of Jamshid, discoverpd, they say, wheil 
Egging ft ■ the foundations of Persepolis. " ■■■Hictiardaon 



J18 PARADISE AND THE PER 

Thy monarchs s nd their thousand thrones J 
'Tis He of Gazn\ ! * — fierce in wrath 

He comes, and India's diadems 
Lie scatter' d in his ruinous path. — 

His blood-hounds he adorns with gf ms, 
Torn from the violated necks 

Of many a young and lov'd Snkana;t 
Maidens within their pure Zenana, 

Priests in the very lane he slaughters, 
And choaks up with the ghttering wrecks 

Of golden shrines the sacred waters ! 
Downward the Peri turns her gaze, 
And, through the war-field'd bloody haze, 
Beholds a youthful warrior stand. 

Alone, beside his native river, — 
The red blade broken in his hand. 

And the last arrow in his quiver. 
"Live," said the Conqueror, "live to share 
The trophies and the crowns I bear !" 
Silent that youthful warrior stood— 
Silent he pointed to the flood 
All crimson with his country's blood, 
Then sent his last remaining dart, 



♦ Mahmood of Gazna, or Ghizni, who conqiiered India 
in the beginning of the lllh ceniurj.-.-See his Hislorj in 
Dow and Sir J. Malcolm. 

t " It is reported that the himtintr equipage of the Sul 
tan Mahmood was so magnificent, ihat he kept 400 grej- 
hounds and blood-hounds, each of which wore a collaf 
«et with jt^wels, and a covering edged with gold and 
peeLvla."- ■Universal History, vol. iii. 



PARADISE A:\D IHE PERI. 119 

For answer to th' Invader's heart. 
False flew the shaft, though pointed well ; 
The Tyrant hv'd, the Hero tell !— 
Vet mark'd the Peri where he lay, 

And when the rush of war was past, 
Swiftly descending on a ray 

Of morning light, she caught the last- 
Last glorious drop his heart had shed, 
Before its free-born spirit fled ! 
" Be this," she cried, as she wing'd her flight, 
" My welcome gift at the Gates of Light, 
Though foul are the drops that oft distil 

On the <ield of warfare, blood like this, 

For Liberty shed, so holy is, 
It would not stain the purest rill, 

That sparkles among the Bowers of Bliss ! 
Oh ! if there be, on this earthly sphere, 
A boon, an offering Heaven holds dear, 
'Tis the last hbation Liberty draws 
From the heart that bleeds and breaks ir hei 

cause!" 
" Sweet," said the Angel, as she gave 

The gift into his radiant hand, 
** Sweet is our welcome of the Brave 

Who die thus for their native land.- 
But see — alas ! —the crystal bar 
Of Eden moves not — holier far 
Than e'en this drop the boon must be. 
That opens the gates of Hoav'n for thee !^ 
Hei first fond hope of Edei: blighted, 



t20 PARADISE AND THE PERI 

Now among Afric's Lunar Mountains,* 
Far to the South, tlie Peri hghted ; 

And sleek' d her plumage at the fountains 
Of that Egyptian tide, — whose birth 
Is hidden from the sons of earth, 
Deep in those soUtary woods, 
Where oft the Genii of the Floods 
Dance round the cradle of their Nile, 
And hail the new-born Giant's smile !t 
Thence, over Egypt's palmy groves, 

Her grots, and sepulchres of kings,! 
The exil'd Spirit sighing roves ; 
And now hangs listening to the doves 
In warm Rosetta's vale§ — now loves 

To watch the moonlight on the wings 
Of the white pelicans that break 
The azure calm of Mceris' Lake. II 
'Twas a fair scene — a land more bright 

Never did mortal eye behold ! 
Who could have thought that saw this night 

* •• The Mount aina of the Moon, or the Montes Luna 
of antiquity, at ihe foot of which the Nile is supposed to 
ti»e."- ••Bruce. 

t " The Nile, which Iha Abyssiniana know bj the names 
of Abej and Alawj, or the Giant." — ^siat. Jteaearthea, 
Tol i. p. 38T. 

X See Perry's View of the Levant, for an account cf the 
sepulchres in Upper Thebes, and the numberless grot« 
covered all over with hieroglyph ics, in the mountains of 
Upper P'eypt. 

^ " The orchardn of Rosetta are filled wilh turtle 
doves."- • • Sonmni. 

il Savar; mentions Ihe jelicans, upon Lake Moaiia. 



fARADISE Ai\D THE PERI. ^21 

Those valleys, and their fruits of goid, 
Basking in heav'n's serenest light; — 
Those groups of lovely date-trees bending 

Languidly their leaf-crown'd heads, 
Like youthful maids, when sleep, descending, 

Warns them to their silken beds ;* — 
Those virgin lilies all the night 

Bathing their beauties in the lake, 
That they may rise more fresh and bright, 

When their belov'd Sun 's awake ; — 
Those ruin'd shrines and towers that seem 
The relics of a splendid dream ; 

Amid whose fairy loneliness 
Nought but the lapwing's cry is heard. 
Nought seen but (when the shadows, flitting 
Fast from the moon, unsheath its gleam) 
Some purple -wing' d Sultanat sitting 

Upon a column, motionless 
And glittering, hke an idol bird ! — 
Who could have thought, that there, e'en there, 
Amid those scenes so still and fair, 

The Demon of the plague hath cast 

From his hot wing a deadlier blast, 

I * " The Buperb date-tree, whose head languidly re- 
iflineg, like ihat of a handsome woman overcome with 
; Bleep, "---/^fl/wrf el Hadad 

\ t " That beautiful bird with plumage of the finest 
'fhining blue, iviih purple beak and legs, 'he natural and 
living ornumenl of ihe temples and palaces of (he Greeks 
jBnd Romans, which from the sip.leliness of its port, ai 
jvell as the bMlliancy of it8 ;olors l;as obtained the titWol 
Sultana. "- • fionniTii . 



122 PARA'JISE AND THE PERI. 

More mortal far than ever came 
From the red Desert's sands of flame ! 
So quick, that every living thing 
Of human shape, touch'd by his w^ing, 

Like plants, where, the Simoon hath past, 
At once falls olack and withering ! 
The sun went down on many a brow, 

Which, full of bloom and freshness then, 
Is rankling in the pest-house now, 

And ne'er will feel that sun again ! 
And oh ! to see th' unburied heaps 
On which the lonely moonhght sleeps — 
The very vultures turn away. 
And sicken at so foul a prey ! 
Only the fierce hygena stalks * 
Throughout the ci'y's desolate walks 
At midnight, and his carnage plies — 

Wo to the half-dead wretch who meets 
The glaring of those large blue eyes t 

Amid the darkness of the streets . 
*■' Poor race of men !" said the pitying Spirit, 

"Dearly ye pay for your primal fall — 
Some flowrets of Eden ye still inherit, 

But the trail of the Serpent is over them all .'** 
She wept — the air grew pure and clear 

Around her, as the bright drops ran ; 



• Jackson, speaking of the plague that occurred in 
West Barbary, when be was there, says, " The birds of 
Ihe air fled away from the abodes of men. The hj»nai, 
on the contrary, visited '.he cemeteries, Ac. 

^ Bruce. 



PARADISE AND THE VETit. 123 

For there's a majjic in each tear 

Such kindly Spirits weep for man! 
Just then beneath some orange trees, 
Whose fruit and blossoms in the breeze 
Were wantoning together, free, 
Like age at play with infancy — 
Beneath that fiesh and springing bower. 

Close by the Lake, she heard ihe moan 
Of one who, at this silent hour. 

Had thither stol'n to die alone. 
One who in life, where'er he mov'd, 

Drew after him the hearts of many ; 
Yet now, as though he ne'er were lov'd, 

Dies here, unseen, unwept, by any ! 
None to watch near him — none to slake 

The fire that in his bosom Hes, 
With e'en a sprinkle from that lake. 

Which shines so cool before his eyes. 
No voice, well-known through many a day. 

To speak the last, the parting word 
Which, when all other sounds decay, 

Is still Hke distant music heard : 
That tender farewell on the shore 
Of this rude world, when all is o'er, 
Which cheers the spirit, ere its bark 
Puts off into the unknown Dark. 
Deserted youth I one thought alone 

Shed joy around his soul in death — 
That she, whom he for years had knov^i 
And iov'd, and might have called his own^ 

Was safe from this foul midnight's bre&th j— 



124 PAKADISE AND THE PERI. 

Safe in b.r father's princely halls, 
Where the cool airs from fountain — fallS; 
Freshly perfum'd by many a brand 
Of the sweet wood from India's land, 
Were pure as she whose brow they fann'd 
But see — who yonder comes by stealth, 

This melancholy bower to seek, 
Like a young envoy sent by Health, 

With rosy gifts upon her cheek ? 
*Tis she — far off, through moonlight dim, 

He knew his own betrothed bride, 
She, who would rather die with him, 

Than live to gain the world beside !— 
Her arms are round her lover now. 

His livid cheek to hers she presses, 
And dips, to bind his burning brow, 

In the cool lake her loosen' d tresses. 
Ah! once, how httle did he think 
An hour would come when he should shrink 
With horror from that dear embrace. 

Those gentle arms, that were to hira 
Holy as is the cradling place 

Of Eden's infant cherubim ! 
And now he yields — now turns away, 
Shuddering as if the venom lay 
All in those proffer' d lips alone — 
Those lips that, then so fearless grown, 
Never until that instant came 
Near his unmask'd, or without shame, 
" Oh ! let me only breathe the air, 

The blessed air that's breath'd by thee. 



PARADISE AND tHE PERI. 12J 

4nd, whether on its wings it bear 

Heahng, or death, 'tis sweet to me I 
There, drink my tears, while yet they fall,— 

Would that my bosom's blood were balm. 
And, well thou know'st, I'd shed it all, 

To give thy brow one minute's calm. 
Nay, turn not from me that dear face — 

Am I not thine — thy own lov'd bride— 
The one, the chosen one, whose place 

In life or death is by thy side ? 
Think' St thou that she, whose only light, 

In this dim world from thee hath shone, 
Could bear the long, the cheerless night, 

That must be hers when thou art gone ? 
That [ can live and let thee go. 
Who art my life itself? — No, no, 
When the stem dies, the leaf that grew 
Out of its heart must perish too ! 
Then turn to me, my own love, turn, 
Before like thee I fade and burn ; 
Chng to these yet cool lips, and share 
The last pure life that Ungers there!" 
She fails — she sinks — as dies the lamp 
In charnel airs or cavern damp, 
So quickly do his balel'ul sighs 
Quench all the sweet hght of her eyes. 
One struggle — and his pain is past— 

Her lover is no longer living ! 
One kiss the maiden gives, one last, 

Long kiss, which she expires in giving ! 
• Sleep," said the Peri, as softly she stole 



126 PARADISE AND THE PEIIT. 

The farewell sigh of that vanishhig soul, 
As true as e'er warm'd a woman's breasw^* 
" Sleep on ; hi visions of odor rest, 
In bahnier airs than ever yet stirr'd 
Th' enchanted pile of that lonely bird, 
Who sings at the last his own death lay,* 
And in music and perfume dies away !" 
Thus sayingj from her lips she spread 

Unearthly breathings through the place, 
And shook her sparkhng wreath, and shed 

Such lustre o'er each paly face. 
That like two lovely saints they seem'd 

Upon the eve of dooms-day taken 
From their dim graves, in odor sleeping ;— 

While that benevolent Peri beam'd 
Like their good angel, calmly keeping 

Watch o'er them, till their souls would waken '. 
But morn is blushing in the sky ; 

Again the Peri soars above. 
Bearing to heaven that precious sigh* 

Of pure self-sacrificing love. 
High throbb'd her heart, with hope elate, 

The Elysian palm she soon shall win. 
For the bright Spirit at the gat 



♦" In the East, fhey suppose the Phcenix to have fiftj 
orifices in his bill, which ate continued to his tail ; and 
that, after living one thousand years, he biiil.-ia himself a 
funeral pile, sings a melodious air of different harmoniei 
through his fifiy organ pipes, flaps his wings wiih a velo- 
eity which sets fire to the wood, and consumes himself."— 
Biehardson 



VARiDISE AND THE PERI. 137 

Sipil'd as she gave that offering in ; 
And she already hears the trees 

Of Eden, with their crystal bells 
Ringing in that ambrosial breeze 

That from the throne of Alla swells ; 
And she can see the starry bowls 

That lie around that lucid lake, 
Upon whose banks admitted souls 

Their first sweet draught of glory take !* 
But ah ! e'en Peri's hopes are vain — 
Again the Fates forbade ; again 
Th' immortal barrier clos'd — " not yet," 
The Angel said, as, with regret, 
He shut from her that glimpse of glorjr — 

True was the maiden, and her story, 
[Written in light o'er Alla's head. 
By Seraph eyes shall long be read. 
But Peri, see — the crystal bar 
Of Eden moves not — hoHer far 
Than e'en this sight the boon must be 
That opes the gates of heaven for thee." 

Now, upon Syria's land of rosest 



f ♦ «' On the shores of a quadranrJiar lake stand a 
thousand goblets, made of siars, out of which souls pre- 
destined to enjov felicitj, drink the cryjlai wave."---FroiiT3 
'Chateaubriand's Description of the Mahometan Paradise, 
in his Beauties of Christianity. 

♦ Richardson "thinks that Svria had its name from Suri, 
« beautiful and dehrate species of rose for which thai 
©Duntry has been always famous ; hence, Suristan, the 
I and of Roses. 



128 PAKAPISE AND THE PERT, 

Softly the light of eve reposes, 
And, hke a gloiy, the broad sun 
Hangs over sainted Lebanon ; 
Whose head in wintry grandeur towers, 

And whitens with eternal sleet, 
While summer, in a vale of flowers, 

Is sleeping rosy at his feet. 
To one who looked from upper air 
O'er all the enchanted regions there. 
How beauteous must have been the glow, 
The hfe, the sparkling from below ! 
Fair gardens, shining streams with ranks 
Of golden melons on their banks. 
More golden where the sun-light falls ; — 
Gay lizards, glittering on the walls * 
Of ruin'd shrines, busy and bright 
As they were all alive with Hght ; — 
And yet more splendid, numerous flocks 
Of pigeons, settling on the rocks, 
With their rich restless wings, that gleam 
Variously in the crimson beam 
Of the warm west, — as if inlaid 
With brilliants from the mine, or made 
Of tearless rainbows, such as span 
Th' unclouded skies of Peristan, 
And then, the mingling sounds that come, 



♦ " The number of lizards I saw one day in the grert 
court of the Templp oi the Sun at Balbec, amounted t« 
fcianj ihousands ; the erround, the walls, and stones of th« 

ined buildings were covered with them." •■•Bruee 



PARADIS ^.hD THE FLUl. Vi9' 

<])f shepherd's ancient reed,* with hum 
Of the wild bees of Palestine, 

Banquetting throv\gh the Howery vales .—• 
And Jordan, those sweet banks of thine, 

And woods so full of nightingales ! 
But nought can charnn the luckless Peri ; 
Her soul is sad — her wings ore weary- 
Joyless she sees the sun look down 
On that great temple, once his own,t 
Whose lonely columns stand sublime, 

Flinging their shadows from cti high, 
Like dials, which the wizard. Time, 

Had rais'd to count his ages by! 
Fet haply there may lie conceal'd 

Beneath those chambers of the Sun, 
Some amulet of gems anneal'd 
In upper fires, some tabret seal'd 

With the great name of Solomon, 

Which, spell'd by her illumin'd eyes. 
May teach her where, beneath the moon, 
In earth or ocean lies the boon. 
The charm that can restore so soon, 

An erring spirit to the skies ! 
Cheer' d by this hope she bends her thither •--«* 

Still laughs the radiant eye of Heaven, 

Nor have the golden bowers of Even 
.n the rich West begun to wither ; — 



* «' Svrinx, or Pan's pipe, is siill a pastoral inetrumenl 
«n Syria. "-.-i?«ssc«. 
■ f The teraule of the sun at Balbec. 

y 

II 



130 PARADISE AND THE PEKL 

Whene'er the vale of Balbec, winging 

Slowly she sees a child at play. 
Among the rosy wild flowers singing, 

As rosy and as wild as they ; 
Chasing, with eager hands and eyes 
The beautiful blue damsel-flies,* 
That fluttered round che jasmine stems^ 
Li e winged flowers or flying gems ; — 
And near the boy, who, tir'd with play, 
Now nestling 'mid the roses lay, 
She saw a wearied man dismount 

From his hot steed, and on the brink 
Of a small imaret's rustic fount 

Impatient fling him down to drink. 
Then swift his haggard brow he turn'd 

To the fair child who fearless sat, 
Though never yet hath day-beam burn'd 

Upon a brow more fierce than that,— 
Sullenly fierce — a mixture dire, 
Like thunder-clouds, of gloom and fire ! 
In which the Peri's eye could read 
Dark tales of many a ruthless deed ; 
The ruin'd maid — the shrine profan'd — 
Oaths broken — and the threshhold stain'd 
With Mood of guests ! — (here written, all, 
Black as the damning drops that fall 
From the denouncing Angel's pen, 

• " You ln^hold there a ronPiderat)le numher of a r©« 
mnrkatile species of beantititl insects, the elegance ol 
whose appearance and their nltire, procured for them 'b"* 
name if Dnmsels."-- ISonnini. 



. TARADISE AND T tt PEKi. 131 

Ere merty weeps them out again ! 

Yet tranquil now that man of crime 

vAs if the bahny evening time 

Soften'd his spirit,) look'd and lay, 

Watching the rosy infant's play : — 

Though still, whene'er his eye by chanca 

Fell on the boy's, its lurid glance 
Met that unclouded, joyous gaze, 

As torches that have burned all night 

Through some impure and godless rite, 
Encounter morning's glorious rays. 

But hark ! the vesper-call to prayer, 
As slow the orb of daylight sets, 

Is rising sweetly on the air, 

From Syria's thousand minarets! 

The boy has started from his bed 

Of flowers, where he had laid his head, 

And down upon the fragrant sod 

Kneels with his forehead to the south, 
Lisping th' eternal name of God 

From purity's own cherub mouth, 
And looking, while his hands and eyes 
Are hfted to the glowing skies. 
Like a stray babe of Paradise, 
Just hghted on that flowery plain, 
And seeking for its home again ! 
Oh 'twas a sight — that Heav'n— that ChilA 
A scene which might have well beguil'd 
E'en haughty Eblis of a sigh 
For glories lost and peace gone by ! 
And how felt he, the wretched Man, 



13;J PAKADISE AND THE PERI. 

Reclining there — while memory ran 
O'er many a year of guilt and strife, 
Flew o'er «he dark flood of his life, 
Nor found one sunny resting-place, 
Nor brought him back one branch of grace « 
'There was a time," he said, in mild 
Heart-humble tones — " thou blessed child! 
When young, and haply pure as thou, 
[ look'd and pray'd hke thee — but now"— 
lie hung his head — each nobler aim 
And hope and feeUng, which had slept 
From boyhood's hour, that instant came 
Fresh o'er him, and he wept — he went ' 
Blest tears of soul-felt peni'ence ! 

In whose benign, redeeming flow 
Is felt the first, the only sense 

Of guiltless joy that ffuilt can know. 
" There's a drop," said the Peri, "that down 

from the moon 
Falls through the withering airs of June 
Upon Eoypt's land,* of so heahng a power, 
So balmy a virtue, that e'en in the hour 
That drop descends, contagion dies. 
And health reanimates earth and skies !— 
Oh, is it not thus, thou man of sin, 

The precious tears of repentance fall ? 
Though foul thy fiery plagues within. 

One heavenly drop hath dispell'd thenA ail.'* 

• The Nucta or !Vfiracii!m)« Drop, whirli falls |r. Egypt, 
preciselj on St. John's day in J'lne, and is supposed t» 
have the enect of stopping the \ lasjiie. 



PARADISE AND THE I'EM 133 

And now — behold him kneeUng there 
By the child's side in humble prayer, 
While the same sunbeams shine upon 
The guilty and the guiltless one, 
And hymns of joy proclaim through heaven 
The triumph of a soul forgiven ! 

'Twas when the golden orb had set, 
While on their knees they lingered yet. 
There fell a light more lovely far 
Than ever came from sun or star, 
Upon the tear, that, warm and meek, 
Dew'd that repentant sinner's cheek : 

To mortal eye this light might seem 
A northern flash or meteor beam — 
But well the enraptured Peri knew 
'Twas a bright smile the Angel threw 
From heaven's gate, to hail that tear 
Her harbinger of glory near ! 

'' Joy, joy forever ! my task is done — 
The gates are passed and heaven is won ! 
Oh ! Am I not happy ? I am, I am — 

To thee, sweet Eden ' how dark and sad 
Are the diamond turrets of Siiadukiam,* 

And the fragrant bowers of Amberabau i 

* The country of delight---lhe name of a Proyince in 
the kingdom of Jinniatan, or Fairy Land, the capital of 
which is called the Citj of Jewels. Amberabai is anothei 
«f the cities of Jinnistan 



134 LALLA ROOKH. 

Farewell, ye odours of earth, that die, 
Passing away like a lover's sigh ; — 
My feast is now the Tooba tree,* 
Whose seen* is the breath of Eternity ! 

'* Farewell, ye vanishing (lowers, that shone 

In my fairy wreath, so bright and brief — 
Oh ! what are the brightest that ere have blown, 
To the Lote-tree, springing by Alla's Throne,"* 

Whose flowers have a soul in every leaf ; 
Joy, joy forever ! — my task is done — 
The gates are pass'd, and heaven is won !" 

" And this," said the Great Chamberlain, "is 
poetry ! this flimsy manufacture of the brain, 
which, in comparison with the lofty and durable 
monuments of genius, is as the gold filigree- work 
of Zamara beside the eternal architecture of 
Egypt." After this gorgeous sentence, which, 
with a few more of the same kmd, Fadladeen 
kept by him for rare and important occasions, he 
proceeded to the anatomy of the short poem just 



• The tree Tooba, ihat stands in Paradise, in .he palace 
of Mahomet."-- Sale's h'rtlim. Disc. " T"obn," says, 
B'llerbelot, " signifies iiepliiude, or eternal happiness.-' 

t Mahonnet is described in ihe 53d chap'er of the Koran 
as having seen the angel Gabriel, << by the loie-tree, be- 
yond which there is no passing ; nea: M is Ihe Garden of 
Eternal Abode." This tree, say the commentators, 
stands in the seventh Heaven on th » right haidof th« 
throne of Qoi. 



AS ORIENTAL ROMANCE. 135 

lecited. The lax and easy kind of ire, re in 
which it was written ought to be denounced, he 
said, as one of the leading causes of the alarming 
growth of poetry in our times. If some check 
were not given to this lawless facility, we should 
.soon be overrun by a race of bards as numerous 
and as shallow as the hundred and twenty thoa- 
sand streams of Basra.* They who succeeded 
in this style deserved chastisement for their very 
success ; — as warriors have been punished, even 
after gaining a victory, because they had taken 
the liberty of gaining it in an irregular or uues- 
tabhshed manner. What, then, was to be said 
to those who failed ? to those who presumed, as 
in the present lamentable instance, to imitate the 
license and ease of the bolder sons of song, with- 
out any of that grace or vigor which gave a dig- 
nity even to negligence — who, hke them, flung 
the jereedt carelessly, but not, like them, to the 
mark; — "and who," said he, raising his voice to 
excite a proper degree of wakefulness in his 
hearers, "contrive to appear heavy and con- 
strained in the midst of all the latitude they have 
allowed themselves, like one of those young pa- 



* " It is said, that the rivers or streams of Basra wer« 
reckoned in the time of Belal hen Abi Bordeh, and 
amounted to the number of one hundred and twenlj 
Jiousand streams. "---jBin Haukcl. 

t The name of the javelin with which the Easterns ex- 
ercise See Castellnr.j JUarus dts Othonons, ton». iu. 

E 16i 



'»36 LALLA KOOKH. 

gans iliat cance before the Princess, who has the 
ingenuity to move as if her Hmbs were fettered, 
in a pair of the lightest and loosest drawers of 
.Masulipatam." 

It was but little suitable, he continued, to the 
;grave march of criticism, to follow this fantasti- 
cal Peii, of whom they had just heard, through 
all her flights and adventures between earth and 
heaven ; but he could not help adverting to the 
puerile conceitedness of the Three Gifts whicl 
she is supposed to carry to the skies — a drop of 
blood, forsooth, a sigh, and a tear ! How the 
first of these articles was dehvcred into the 
Angel's " radiant hand," he professed himself at 
a loss to discover ; and as to the safe carriage of 
the sigh and the tear, such Peris and such poets 
were beings by far too incomprehensible for him 
even to guess how they managed such matters. 
" But in short," said he, " it is a waste of time 
and patience to dwell longer upon a thing so in- 
curably frivolous — puny even among its ovvn 
puny race, and such as only the Banyan Hospi- 
tal for Sick Insects* should undertake." 

In vain did Lai.la Rookii try to soften thism- 
exorable critic ; in vain did she resort to her most 
eloquent common-places — reminding him that 
poets were a timui and senisitve race, whose 
sweetness was not to be drawn forth, hke thatol 



♦ For a description of this Ho?=]iit8l of the Ean5'^ln8. tee 
Parstm's Travels, p. 2fi2 



AN jaiEMTAL ROMANCE. 13? 

the fragrant gMSs near the Ganges, by crushing 
and trampling upon them; — that severity often 
destroyed every chance of the perfection which 
it demand(;d ; and that, after all, perfection was 
like the Mountain of the Talisman — no one had 
ever yet reached its summit.* Neither these gen- 
tle axioms, n)r the still gentler looks with vi^hich 
thoy were inculcated, could lower for one instant 
the elevation of Fadladeen's eyebrows, or charm 
him into any thing hke encouragement, or even 
toleration of her poet. Toleration, indeed, was 
not among the weaknesses of Fadladeen :— he 
carried the same spirit into matters of poetry 
and of religion, and, i lough httle versed in the 
beauties or subhmhies of either, was a perfect 
master of the art of persecution in both. Ilia 
zeal, too, was the same in either pursuit ; whe- 
ther the game before him was pagans or poet- 
asters — worshippers of cows, or wrhers of epics. 

They had now ai rived at the splendid city of • 
Lahore, whose mausoleums and shrines, mag- 
nificent and numberless, where Death seemed 
to share equal honours with Heaven, would have 
powerfully affected the heart and imagination of 
Lalla Rookh, if feelings more of this earth had 
not entirely taken possession of her already. 



* «' Near this is a curious hill, called Koh Talisiu, the 
Mountain of lhf> Talisman, b«»rause, according lo the tra 
ditions of the ccuntry, no person ever sucteeded in gain 
mg ila aummit. ■•■Kin-neir 



138 LAL^A ROOK3.. 

She was here iuet by messengers despatched 
from Cashmere, who informed her t lat the King 
had arrived in the Valley, and was himself su- 
perintending the sumptuous preparations that 
were making in the Saloons of the Shalimur for 
her reception. The chill she felt on receiving 
this intelligence — which to a bride whose heart' 
was free and light would have brought only 
images of affection and pleasure — convinced her 
that her peace was gone for ever, and that she 
was in love, irretrievably in love, with young 
Feramorz. The veil, which this passion wears 
at first, had fallen off, and to know that she loved 
was now as painful, as to love without knowing 
it, had been delicious. Feramorz too — what 
misery would be his, if the sweet hours of inter- 
course so imprudently allowed them should have 
stolen into his heart the same fatal fascination 
as into hers ; — if, notwithstanding her rank, and 
the modest homage he always paid to it, e\enhe 
should have yielded to the influence of those long 
and happy interviews, where music, poetry, the 
delightful scenes of nature — all tended to bring 
their hearts close together, and to waken by 
every rr cans that too ready passion, which often, 
hke the young of the desert-bird, is warmed into 
life by the eyes alone !* She saw but one way 



♦ " The Arabians Ijellevf ihnt the os^richps hatrh their 
joiing by only Itolcing at thjm."--i'. Vanslebe, Jictat 
d'Egypte 



AN ORIEJSTAL ROMANCE X39 

CO preserve herself from being culpable as well 
as unhappy ; and this, however painful, she was 
resolved to adopt. Feramorz must no more be 
ftdmitted to her presence. To have strayed so 
far into the dangerous labyrinth was wrong, buf 
to hnger in it while the clew was yet in her 
hand, would be criminal. Though ihe heart she 
had to offer to the King of Bucharia might be 
cold and broken, it should at least be pure ; and 
she must only try to forget the short vision of 
happiness she had enjoyed — like that Arabian 
shepherd, who, in wandering into the wilderness, 
caught a glimpse of the Gardens of Irim, and 
then lost them again for ever !* 

The arrival of the young Bride at Lahore 
v^as celebrated in a most enthusiastic manner. 
The Rajas and Omras in her train, who had 
kept at a certain distance during the journey, and 
never encamped nearer to the Princess than was 
strictly necessary for her safeguard, here rode in 
splendid cavalcade through the city, and dis- 
tributed the most costly presents to the crowd. 
Engines were erected in all the squares, which 
cast forth showers of confectionary among the 
people , while the artisans, in chariots adorned 
with tinsel and flying streamers, exhibited the 
badges of their respective trades through tha 
Btreets. Such briUiant displays of life and pa- 
geantry among the palaces, and domes, anrf 

■| S«e Sale'9 Koran, note, voi. ii. p. 484. 



140 LALLA ROOKir. 

gilded minarets of Lahore, made the city alto- 
gether like a place of enchantment ; — particularly 
on the day when Lalla Rookh set out again 
upon her journey, when she was accompanied 
to the gate by all the fairest and richest of the 
nobiUty, and rode along between ranks of beau- 
tiful boys and girls, who waved plates of gold 
and silver flowers over their heads* as they went, 
and then threw them to be gathered by the 
populace. 

For many days after their departure from La- 
hore a considerable degree of gloom hung over 
the whole party. Lalla Rookh, who had in- 
tended to make illness her excuse for not admit - 
ting the young minstrel, as usual, to the pavilion, 
soon found that to feign indisposition was un- 
necessary ; — Fadladeen felt the loss of the good 
road they had hitherto travelled, and was very 
near cursing Jehan-Guire (of blessed memory !) 
for not having continued his delectable alley ol 
trees, t at least as far as the mountains of Cash* 
mere ; — while the ladies, who had nothing now 
to do all day but to be fanned by peacock's fea- 
thers and listen to Fadladeen, seemed heartily 
weary of the life they led, and, in spite of all 
the Great Cham.berlain's criticism, were tasteless 
enough to wish for the poet again. One even- 



* Feriahfa. 

j The fine road made hv the Emperor Jeht\!i-Guir« 
*»om Agra to Lahore, i Un'eJ with trees on each side- 



AN ORIENTAL XOMANlS. 14* 

ing, as they were proceeding to their place of 
rest for the night, the Princess, who, for the freer 
enjoyment of the air, had mounted her favourite 
Arabian palfrey, in passing by a small grove, 
heard the notes of a lute from whhin its leaves, 
and a voice, which she but too well knew, sing 
ing the following words : — 

Tell me not of joys above, 
If that world can give no bliss, 

Truer, happier than the Love 
Which enslaves our souls in this * 

Tell me not of Houris' eyes ; — 
Far from me their dangerous glow, 

If those looks that light the skies 
Wound like some that burn below. 

Who that feels what k ve is here- 
All its falsehood — all its pain — 

Would, for e'en Elysium's sphere. 
Risk the fatal dream again ? 

Who, that midst a desert's heat 

Sees the waters fade away, 
Would not rather die than meet 

Streams again as false as they ? 

The tone of melancholy defiance in whicfc 
Jiese words were uttered, went to Lalla Rookh's 
heart — and, as she r?luctantly rode on, she could 



112 LALLA kookr: 

not help feeling ii as a sad but »weei certainty, 
that Feramokz was to the full f.s enamored and 
miserable as hersslf. 

The place where they encamped that evening 
was the first delightful spot they had come to 
since they left Lahore. On one side of them 
was a grove full of small Hindoo temples, and 
planted with the most graceful treesuf the East; 
where the tamarind, the cassia, and the silkeR 
plantains of Ceylon were mingled in rich con 
trast with the high fan-like foliage of the palmy 
ra — that favorite tree of the luxurious bird that 
lights up the chambers of its nest with fire-flies.* 
In the middle of the lawn, where the pavilion 
stood, there was a tank surrounded by small 
rnangoe-trees, on the clear cold wafers of which 
floated multitudes of the beautiful red lotus; 
while at a distance stood the ruins of a strange 
and awful-looking tower, which seemed old 
enough to have been the temple of some religion 
no longer known, and which spoke the voice oi 
desolation in the midst of all that bloom and 
loveliness. This singular ruin excited the won 
der and conjectures of all. Lalla Rhook guess* 
ed in vain, and the all-pretending Fadladeen 
wno had never till this journey been beyond the 
precincts of Delhi, was proceeding most learn- 
edly to show that he knew nothing whatever 
about the matter, when one of the ladies sug 

♦TheBaja, or Ttidian Gross beak -Sir W. Jonea. 



AN ORIENTAL ROMANCE. li?i, 

gcsted, hfvt perhaps Feramorz could satisfy 
their cariosity. They were now approaching 
his native mountains, and this lov/er might be 
a reUc of some of those dark superstitions, 
which had prevailed in that country before the 
light of Islam dawned upon it. The chamber- 
lain, who usually preferred his own ignorance 
to the best knowledge that any one else could 
give him, was by no means pleased with this 
officious reference ; and the Princess, too, was 
about to interpose a faint word of objection ; but, 
before either of them could speak, a slave was 
despatched for Feramorz, who, in a very few 
minutes, appeared before them — looking so pale 
and unhappy in Lalla Rookh's eyes, that she 
already repented of her cruelty in having so long 
excluded him. 

That venerable tower, he told them, was the 
remains of an ancient Fire-Temple, built by 
those Ghebers or Persians of the old rehgion, 
who, many hundred years since had fled hither 
from their Arab conquerors, preferring Uberty 
and their altars in a foreign land, to the alterna- 
tive of apostacy or persecution in their own. 
It was impossible, he added, not to feel interested 
in the many glorious but unsuccessful struggles, 
which had been made by these original natives 
of Persia to cast off the yoke of their bigoted 
conquerors. Like their own Fire in the Burn- 



M4 LALLA ROORa. 

ing Field at Rakou,* when suppre<5sed m one 
place, they had but broken out with fresh flame 
in another ; and, as a native of Cashmere, o! 
that fair and Holy Valley, which had in the 
same manner become the prey of strangers, and 
seen her ancient shrines and native princei 
swept away before the march of her intolerant 
invaders, he felt a sympathy, he owned, with 
the sufTcrings of the persecuted Ghebers, which 
every monument like this before them but tended 
more powerfully to awaken. 

It was the first time that Feramorz had ever 
ventured upon so much prosebefore Fadladeen^, 
and it may easily be conceived what effect such 
prose as this must have produced upon that 
most orthodox and most pagan-hating person- 
age. He sat for some minutes aghast, ejacula- 
ting only at intervals, "Bigotted conquerors! — 
sympathy with Fire-v/orshippers!" — while Fe 
RAMORZ, happy to take advantage of this almost 
speechless horror of the Chamberlain, proceeded 
to say that he knew a melancholy story, connect- 
ed with the events of one of those brave strug- 
gles of the Fire-worshippers of Persia against 
their Arab masters, which, if the evening was not 
too far advanced, he should have much pleasure 
in being allowed to relate to the Princess. It 
was impossible for Lalla Rookh to refuse;-^ 



t The " Agar ardens" describpd bv Kimpfer, Jimam. 
tat. Exot. 



THE FIRE-W0R»»^IP1:ER9. 14S 

he had never before lookec naif so anitnaied, and 
when he spoke of the Holy Valley, his eyes had 
sparkled, she thought, hke the talispianic cha- 
racters on the scimitar of Solomon. Her con- 
Bent was therefore readily granted, and while 
Fadladeen sat in unspeakable dismay, expect- 
ing treason and abomination in every hne, the 
poet thus began his story of — 

THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 



'Tis moonlight over Oman's Sea;* 

Her banks of pearls and palmy isles 
Bask in the night-beam beauteously, 

And her blue waters sleep in smiles. 
'Tis moonhght on HARMOziA'st walls. 
And through her Emir's porphyry halls, 
Where, some hours since, was heard the svsrell 
Of trumpet and the clash of zel,t 
Bidding the brigh^-^yed sun farewell ;— 
The peaceful sun, whom better suits 

The music of the bulbul's nest, 
Or the light touch of lovers' lutes, 

To sing him to his golden rest ! 

* The Persian Gulf, sometimes so called, which 8epa> 
ratea the shores of Persia and Arabia. 

t The present Gombaroon, a town on the Peramn ri'J* 
oflheGulf. 

t A Moorish instrument of music. 
10 



»46 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPEFS. 

All hush'd there's not a breeze in motion ; 
The shore is silent as the ocean.' 
If zephyrs come, so hght they come, 

Nor leaf is stirr'd nor wave is driven ;— 
The wind-tower on the Emir's dome* 

Can hardly win a breath from heaven. 
E'en he, that tyrant Arab, sleeps 
Calm, whHc a nation round him weeps ; 
While curses load the air he breathes. 
And falchions from unnumbered sheathes 
Are starting to avenge the shame 
His race had brought on iRAN'st name. 
Hard, heartless Chief, unmov'd alike 
'Mid eyes that weep and swords that strike j* 
One of that saintly, murderous brood, 

To carnage and the Koran given, 
Who think through unbelievers' blood 

Lies their directest path to heaven : 
One, who will pause and kneel unshod 

In the warm blood his hand hath pour'd, 
To mutter o'er some text of God 

Engraven on his reeking sword ;t — 
Nay, who can coolly note the hne. 
The letter of those words divine, 



* " At Gombaroon and other places in Persia, they haxe 
towrrs for ttie piirpdRK- of catching the wind, and cooling 
the hoTis.'B." --Le Bniyn. 

t" Iran is the true general name of the empire of 
iVrfia." ^sint Bes. Di^c 5. 

J " On the hiados of their sciinitars Roms verses frcni 
le Koran is usually inscribed,"-- -/?«.««" 



THE FlKE-WOnSHirPERS. 147 

To which his blade, with searching art. 
Flad srnik into his victim's heart ! 
Just Alia ! what must be thy look, 

When such a wretch before ihee stands 
Unblushing, with thy Sacred Book, 

Turning the leaves with blood-stain' d hands, 
And wresting from its page sublime 
flis creed of lust and hate and crime ? 
E'en as those bees of Trebizond, 

Which, from the sunniest hours that glad 
With their pure smile the gardens round, 

Draw venom forth that drives men mad !* 
Never did fierce Arabia send 

A satrap forth more direly great ; 
Never was Iran doom'd to bend 

Beneath a yoke of deadlier weight. 
Her throne had fall'n — her pride was crush' d— 
Her sons were willing slaves, nor blush'd 
In their own land — no more their own — 
To crouch beneath a stranger's throne. 
Her towers, where Mithra once had burn'd, 
To Moslem shrines — oh shame ! were turn'd, 
Where slaves, converted by the sword, 
Their mean, apostate, worship pour'd, 
And curs'd the faith their sires ador'd. 
Yet has she hearts, mid all this ill, 
O'er all this wreck high buoyant still 



t «' There is a kind of RliododenrJros about Trebizond, 
whose flowers the bee fet-ds upon, and the honej thenca 
ilrives people Tn3^."''-Toj,TnefoTt. 



'48 THE FlPvE-WOKSHIl^PiiRS. 

With hope and vengeance : — hearts thai yet. 

Like gems, in darkness issuing rays 
They've treasured from the sun that's set, 

Beam all the light of long-lost days ! — 
And svords she hath, nor weak nor slow 

To second all such hearts can dare ; 
As he *hall know^, well dearly know, 

Who slet^ps in moonlight luxury there, 
Tranquil as if his spirit lay 
Becalm'd in heaven's approving ray! 
Sleep on — for purer eyes than thine 
Those waves are hush'd, those planets shine 
Sleep on, and be thy rest unmov'd 

By the white moonbeam's dazzling power ; 
None but the loving and the lov'd 

Should be awake at thi? sweet hour. 
And see — where, high above those rocks 

That o'er the deep their shadows fling, 
Yon turret stands ; where ebon locks, 

As glossy as the heron's wing 

Upon the turban of a King,* 
Hang from the lattice, long and wild.— 
'Tis she, that Emir's blooming child, 
All truth, and tenderness, and grace, 
Though born of such ungentle race ; 
An image of Youth's radiant Fountain 
Springing in a desolate mountain !t 

* " Their kines wear pliirrn'S of" lilack heron'B feathen 
upon the rieht side as a ba'lge nffci\'pre[gntj."--Hanivay. 
t «» The Fountain of Yoiiil) hr » Mahommi.'tan tradition 
is situated in some dark region of the East."- Richardson 



THE FIKE-WORSHIFPLRS. '* 

Oh what a pure and sacred thing 

Is beauty, cur;ain d from the s>gUt 
Of the gross world, illumining 

One only mrnsion with her light . 
Unseen by man's disturbing eye — 

The flower, that blooms beneath the sea^ 
Too deep for sunbeams, doth not lie 

Hid in more chaste obscurity ! 
So, HiNDA, have thy face jind mind, 
Like holy mysteries, lain enshrin'd. 
And oh what transport for a lover 

To lift the veil that shades them o'er!— 
Like those, who, all at once, discover 

In the lone deep some fairy shore, 

Where mortal never trod before. 
And sleep and wake in scented airs 
No lip hath ever breath'd but theirs ! 
Beautiful are the maids that glide 

On Summer eve, through Yemen's* dales; 
And bright the glancing looks they hide 

Behind their htters' roseate veils ; 
And brides, as delicate and fair 
As the white jasmin'd flowers they wear, 
Hath Yemen in her blissful clime, 

AVho, luU'd in cool kiosk or bower, 
Before their mirrors count the time, 

And grow still lovelier every hour. 
But never yet hath bride or maid 

In Aeaby's gay Harams smil'd, 
, I 

* Arabia Felix 



150 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPEKs. 

Whose boasted briijlitness would not .^iaJe 

Before Al Hassan's blooming child 
Light as the angel shapes that bless 
An infant's dream, yet not the less 
Rich in all woman's loveliness ; — 
With eyes so pure, that from their ray 
Dark Vice would turn abash'd away, 
Blinded, like serpents when the gaze 
Upon the emerald's virsrin blaze !* — 
Yet, fiU'd with all youth's sweet desires, 
MingUng the meek and vestal fires 
Of other worlds with all the bliss. 
The fond, weak tenderness of this ! 
A soul, too, more than half divine, 
Where, through some shades of earthly feaj 

Religion's soften'd glories shine. 

Like light through summer foliage stealing. 
Shedding a glow of such mild hue, 
So warm, and yet so shadowy too, 
As makes the very darkness there 
More beautiful than light elsewhere ! 
Such is the maid, who, at this hour, 

Hath risen from her restless sleep, 
And sits alone in that high bower. 

Watching the still and shining deep. 



• " TJiey say ihat if a snakp or sprpeni fix his eyes on 
t'ne lustre of ibosf" siorn^j, (puvhIIs,) Ik^ immedialelj 
becomes brjid ^'•■•^■Jiinied ben Jl'jdalazir, Trcaliseon Jew 



THE flRE-WORSIIIFFEilS. 151 

Ah ! 'twas not thus — with tearful eyes 

And beating heart — she used to gazo 
On the magnificent earth and skies, 

In her own land in happier days. 
Why looks she now so anxious down 
Among those rocks, whose rugged frown 

Blackens tne mirror of the deep ? 
Whom waits she all this lonely night ? 

Too rough trie tocks, too bold the steep, 
For man to scale that turret's height! — 
(So deem'd at least her thoughtful sire. 

When high, to catch the cool night air 
After the day-beam's withering fire,* 

He built her bower of freshness there, 
And had it deck'd with costliest skill, 

And fondly thought it safe as fair : — 
Think, reverend dreamer! think so still, 

Nor wake to learn what Love can dare- 
Love, all-defying Love, who sees 
No charm in trophies won with ease ;— 
Whose rarest, dearest fruits of bliss 
Are pluck' d on Danger's precipice ! 
Bolder than they, who dare not dive, 

For pearls, but when the sea's at rest, 
Love, in the tempest most ahve. 

Hath ever held that pearl the best 
He finds beneath the stormiest water ! 



* " At Gombaroon and Ihe Isle of Ormus it ia ^ome- 
timea so hot, that ihe people are obliged to lie all day it 
the waXer. "•••Marco Polo, 



J 52 THE nRE- WORSHIPPED. s.. 

Yes Araby's unrivall'd daughter, 

Though nigh that tower, that rofk-way rudOv 

There's one who, but to kiss thy cheek, 
Would chmb th' untrodden solitude 

Of Ararat's tremendous peak,* 
And think its steeps, though dark and dread, 
Heav'n's path-ways, if to thee they led ! 
E'en now thou sees't the flashing spray. 
That lights his oar's impatient way : 
E'en now thou hear'st the sudden shock 
Of his swift bark against the rock, 
And stretchest down thy arms of snow, 
As if to lift him from below ! 
Like her to whom, at dead of night, 
The bridegroom with his locks of light,t 
Came, in the flush of love and pride, 
And scal'd the terrace of his bride ; — 
When, as she saw him rashly spring, 
And mid-way up in danger cling, 
Z\\e flung him down her long black hair. 
Exclaiming, breathless, "There, love there!' 
And scarce did manlier nerve uphold 

The hero Zal in that fond hour, 



* *• This mountain 13 generallj supposed to be inacceB- 
Bible. 

t In one of the boolca of the Shah Nameh, ,yhen Zal 
(a celebrated hero of Persia, remarkable for his while 
hair) comes to the terrace of his mistress Kolahver at 
night, she lets down her long tresses to aH-<ist in his as- 
fent ; h-, however, manages it in a less roman'ic waj, by 
fixing tiis crook in a projecting beam. ■••See Cliainpion'i 
Ferdoai 



THE FIRE-AVOKSHIi'PERS. 153 

Than wings the youth, who fleet ana bold, 

Now chmbs the rocks to Hinda's bower. 
See — light as up their granite steeps 

The rock-goats of Arabia clamber,* 
Fearless from crag to crag he leaps, 

And now is in the maiden's chamber. 
She loves — but knows not whom she loves. 

Nor what his race, nor whence he carae;» 
Like one who meets, in Indian groves, 

Some beauteous bird without a name. 
Brought by the last ambrosial breeze, 
From isles in the undiscover'd seas, 
To show his plumage for a day 
To wondering eyes, and wing away ! 
Will he thus fly — her nameless lover ? 

Alia forbid ! 'twas by a moon 
As fair as this, while singing over 

Some ditty to her soft Kanoon,t 
Alone, at this same watching hour, 

She first beheld his radiant eyes 
Gleam through the lattice of the bower, 

Where nightly now they mix their sighs ; 
And thought some spirit of the air 
(For what could waft a mortal there ?) 
Was pausing on his moonlight way 



♦ " On the bftj h lis of Arabia Peti'se are rock-gonta." 
-..Nisk'jhr. 

t " Canun, espece de psalterion, aver dea cordea de 
bojanx ; les dirnnes en louchenl dans in sarrpil, ^v.t dei 
decaiiies armees depoln'es de coco."- - Ti'«fmn(, ^oncb 
Ud*nj De Counan 



j54 the fire worshippers. 

To listen to her lonely lay ! ^ 

This fancy ne'er hath lett her mind: ■ 

And though, when terror's swoon had paat, 
She saw a youth of mortal kind, 

Before her in obeisance cast — 
Yet often since, when he hath spoken 
Strange, awful words — and gleams have broker 
From his dark eyes, too bright to bear. 

Oh ! she hatli fear'd her soul was given 
To some unhallow'd child of air, 

Some erring spirit cast from heaven. 
Like those angelic youths of old. 
Who burn'd for maids of mortal mould, 
Bewilder'd left the glorious skies. 
And lost their heaven for woman's eyes ! 

Fond girl ! nor fiend, nor angel he, 
Who woos thy young simplicity ; 
But one of earth's impassion'd sons, 

As warm in love, as fierce in ire, 
As the best heart whose current runs 

Full of the Day-God's hving fire ! 
But quench'd to-night that ardor seems, 

And pale his cheek, and sunk his brow j 
Never before, but in htr dreams, 

Had she beheld him pale as now ; 
And those were dreams of troubled sleep, 
From which 'twas joy to wake and weep, 
Visions that will not be forgot, 

Brt sadden every vaking scene. 



THE FIRE-WORSHIFl'ERA. 155 

Like warning gliosis that leave the spot 
All wither' (1 where they once had been. 

" How sweetly," said the trembling maids 
Of her own gentle voice afraid, 
So long had they in silence stood. 
Looking upc n that tranquil flood — 

How sweetly does the moonbeam smile 
To-night upon yon leafy isle ! 
Oft, in my fancy's wanderings, 
F've wish'd that httle isle had wings, 
And we, within its fairy bowers, 

Were v.-afted off to seas unknown, 
Where not a pulse should beat but ours, 

And we might live, love, die alme — 
Far from the cruel and the cold — 

Where the bright eyes of angels only 
Should come around us to behold 

A paradise so pure and lonely ? 
Would this be world enough for thee ?"— 
Playful she turn'd, that he might see 

The passing smile her cheek put on ; 
But when she mark'd how mournfully 

His eyes met hers, that smile was gone f 
And bursting into heart-felt tears, 
" Yes, yes," she cried, *' my hourly fears 
My dreams have boded all too right — 
We part — for ever part — to-night ! 
I knew, I knew it could not last — 
'Twas bright, 'twas heavenly, but 'tis past' 
Oh! ever thus, from childhood's hour. 



J 50 THE FIRE-WOKSHIPPERS. 

I've seen my fondest hopes decay , 
I never loved a Tree or flower, 

But 'twas the first to fade away. 
I never nurs'd a dear gazelle, 

To glad me with its soft black eye, 
But when it came to know me well, 

And love me, it was sure to die • 
Now too — the joy most like divine, 

Of all I ever dreamt or knew, 
To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine— 

Oh misery ! must I loose that too ? 
Vet go — on peril's brink we meet ; — 

Those frightful rocks — that treacherous 
No, never como again — though sweet, 

Though hea /en — it may be death to thee. 
Farewell — and blessings on thy way. 

Where'er thou goest, beloved stranger ! 
Betier to sit and watch that ray, 
And think thee safe, though far away. 

Than have thee near me, and in danger!' 

" Danger I — oh, tempt me not to boast,'* 
The youth exclaimed — " thou little know'il 
What he can brave, who, born and nurst 
In Danger's paths, has dar'd her worst! 
Upon whose ear the signal-word 

Of strife and death is hourly breaking; 
Who sletps with head upon the sword 

Ifis fever'd hand must grasp in waldng! 
Danger !" 



THE FIKE-WORSHIPF'2R3. 157 

" Say on — thou fears' t not thenj 
ixA we may meet — oft meet a^ainV" 

• Oh ! look not so— beneath the skies 
now fear nothmg but those eyes. 
f ttught on earth could charm or force 
ly spirit from its destined course — 
f aught could make this soul forget 
rhe bond to which its seal is set, 
Twould be those eyes ; — they, only they, 
:!ould melt that sacred seal away ! 
Jut no— 'tis fix'd — my awful doom 
s fix'd~on this side of the tomb 
Ve meet no more — why, why did Heaven 
»Iingle two souls that earth has riven, 
las rent asunder wide as ours ? 
)h, Arab maid ! as soon the Powers 
)f Light and Darkness may combine, 
^s I be hnk'd with thee or thine ! 
rhy father" 

"Holy Alla save 

His grey-head from that lightning glance I 
rhou know'st him not— he loves the brave. 

Nor Uves there under heaven's expanse 
3ne who would prize, would worship thee, 
^nd thy bold spirit, more than he. 
3ft when, in childhood, I have play'd 

With the bright falchion by his side, 
I've heard him swear his lisping maid 

In tune should be a warrior's bride. 



158 THE FIRE-WORSHIPFERS. 

And still, whene'er at Haram hours, 
I take him cool sherbets and flowerp, 
He tells me when in playful mood, 

A hero shall my bridegroom be. 
Since maids arc best in battle woo'd, 

And won with shouts of victory ! 
Nay, turn not from me— thou alone 
Art form'd to make both hearts thy own. 
Go — join his sacred ranks — thou know'st 

Th' unholy strife these Persians wage :— 
Good Heaven that frown ! — e'en now thou glowiV 

With more than mortal warrior's rage. 
Haste to the camp by morning's light. 
And, when that sword is rais'd in fight, 
Oh, still remember Love and I 
Beneath its shndow trembling lie ! 
One victory o'er those Slaves of Fire, 
Those impious Ghebers, whom my sire 

Abhors" 

" Hold, hold — thy words are death"—* 

The stranger cried, as wild he flung 
His mantle back, and show'd beneath 

The Ghcber belt that round him clung.* 
" Here, maiden, look — weep — blush to see 
All that thy sire abhors in mc ! 



* " They [the Ghehers] lay so mnch strpss on Ihe cu*J 
the or girdle as no'. 1o dare to be «n insiant ivilhout it."- — 
C^roifV Voyage. " T-e jeune homme nin d'aliord lachose** 
maia, oyunt ere de;.ouille de sa robe, el la Inrge ceinlurai 
qu'il portait conime Qhehr," elc. etc.-- B'Jlerbelot, art! 
Agduani. 



THE riKE-WORSHIPPERS. 159 

V^es — / am of tnat impious race, 

Those Slaves of Fire, who, morn ani even. 
Hail their Creator's dwelling-place 

Among the living lights of heaven !* 
Yes — / am of that outcast few, 
To Iran and to vengeance true. 
Who curse the hour your Arabs cama 
To desolate our shrines of flame, 
And swear, before God's burning eye, 
To break our country's chains, or die " 
Thy bigot sire — nay, tremble not — 

He who gave birth to those dear e} is, 
With me is sacred as the spot 
From which our fires of worsliip rise ! 
But know — 'twas he I sought that night 

When, from my watch -boat on the sea, 
I caught this turret's gUmmering light, 

And up the rude rocks desperately 
Rush'd to my prey — thou know'st the reai-^ 
I climb' d the gory vulture's nest. 
And found a trembUng dove within ; — 
Thine, thine the victory — thine the sin— 
If Love hath made one thought his own, 
That vengeance claims first — last — alone ! 
Oh ! had we never, never met. 
Or could this heart e'en now forget 
How link'd, how blest we might have been, 



•' Thej suppose the throne of the Almightj is deat«d 
In ihe sun, and hence their worahip of that luminary.' 
Hanwaj 



ibO THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 

Had Fate not frown'd so dark between, 
Hadst thou been born a Persian maid, 

In neighboring valleys had we dwelt, 
Through the same fields in childhood play'd, 

At the same kindling altar knelt — 
Then, then, while all those nameless ties, 
In which the charm of country lies, 
Had round our hearts been hourly spun, 
Till Iran's cause and thine were one ; — 
While uTthy lute's awakening sigh 
I heard the voice of days gone by, 
And saw in every smile of thine 



Returning hours of glory shine 

While the wrong' d Spirit of our Land 

Liv'd, look'd, and spoke her wrongs througli 

thee — 
God ! who could then this sword withstand ? 

Its very flash were victory ! 
But now — estrang'd, divorced for ever. 
Far as the grasp of Fate can sever ; 
Our only ties what Love has wove. 

Faith, friends, and country, sundered wide:-*' 
And then, then only, true to love, i 

When false to all that's dear beside ! 
Thy father, Iran's deadliest foe — 
Thyself, perhaps, e'en now — but no — 
Hate never look'd £o lovely yet ! 

No — sacred to thy soul will be 
The land of him who could forget 

All but that bleeding land for thee ! , 

When other eyes shall see, unmov'd, 



THE FIRE-WORSIIirrEKS. «61 

Her widows mourn, her warriors fall, 
rhou'lt think how well one Gheber lov'dj 

And for his sake thou' It weep for all! 

But look" 

With sudden start he turn'd 

And pointing to the distant wave, 
Where Hghts, like charnal meteors burn'd 

Bluely, as o'er some seaman's grave ; 
And fiery darts, at intervals,* 

Flew up all sparkling from the main, 
As if each star that nightly falls. 

Were shooting back to heaven again. 

** My signal-lights ! — I must away — 

Both, both are ruin'd, if I stay. 

Farewell — sweet hfe I thou cling'st in vain,'* 

Now — vengeance ! — lam thine again." 

Fiercely he broke away, nor stopp'd, 

Nor look'd — but from the lattice dropp'd 

Down mid the pointed crags beneath, 

As if he fled from love to death. 

While pale and mute young Hinda stood, 

Nor mov'd, till in the silent flood 

A momentary plunge below 

Startled her from her trance of wo ? 

Shrieking she to the lattice flew — ' 



♦ '* Tlie Mamelukes that were in the other boat, whee 
it was dark, used lo shoot up a sort of fierj arrows lnt« 
the air, which in some measure resertibled lighlninjj oi 
falling %\.axi.^' •■ -Baumgirten. 

11 



62 THE FlRE-WORSHIiPEKS. 

"I come — T come — if ia that tide 
Thou sleep' St to-night — I'll sleep there too. 
In death's cold wedlock by thy side. 
Oh ! I would ask no happier bed 

Than the chill wave my love lies under ; 
Sweeter to rest together dead, 

Far sweeter, than to live asunder !'* 
But no — their hour is not yet come — 

Again she sees his pinnace fly, 
Wafting him fleetly to his home, 

Where'er that ill-starr'd home may He ; 
And calm and smooth it seem'd to win 

Its moonlight way before the wind, 
As if it bore all peace within, 

Nor left one breaking heart behind. 

The Princess, whose heart was sad eno igh 
already, could have wished that Feramokz had 
chosen a less melancholv story ; as it is only to 
the happy that tears arc a luxury. Her ladies, 
however, were by no means sorry that love was 
once more the Poet's theme ; for when he spoke 
of love, they said, his voice was as sweet as if he 
had chewed the leaves of that enchanted tree, 
which grows over the tomb of the musician, 
Tan-Sein. 

Their road all the morning had Iain through a 
very dreary country ; — 'through valleys, covered 
with a low bushy jungle, where, in more than 
one place, the awful signal of the bamboo staff, 
%vith the white flag a*, its top, reminded the travel 



TttE FlRE-WORSHIIiERS. 163 

fer that in that very spot the tiger had made some 
human creature his victim. It was therefore 
with much pleasure that they arrived at sunset in 
a safe and lovely glen, ana encamped under one 
of those holy trees, whose smooth columns and 
spreading roofs seemed lo destine them for natural 
lemples of religion. Beneath the shade, some 
pious hands had erected pillars ornamented with 
the most beautiful porcelain, which now supplied 
the use of mirrors to the young maidens, as ihey 
adjusted their hair in descending from the palan- 
keens. Here while, as usual, the Princess sat 
listening anxiously, with Fadladeen in one of 
his loftiest moods of criticism by her side, the 
young Poet, leaning against a branch of the tree, 
thus continued his story : — 

The morn hath risen clear and calm. 
And o'er the Green Sea* palely shines, 

Revealing Bahrein's groves of palm, 
And lighting KisHMA'st amber vines. 

Fresh smell the shores of Arabv, 

While breezes from the Indian sea 

Blow round Selama'sI sainted cape, 

♦The Persian GuIf.---'» To dive for pearls in thoQreen 
Sea, or Persian Gnlf."----SYr W.Jones. '* 

t Islands in the Gulf. 

t Or Selenneh, the genuine name of Ihe headland at the 
entrance of the Gulf, comnronljr called Cape Musseldono. 
" The Indians, when Ihej pass the promonto-y, ihrow 
cocoa-nuts, fruits or tlowers into the sea to secure p»o« 
pitious vojag'e."---il/ortcr. 



54 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 

And curl tlie shining flood beneath — 
Whose waves are rich with many a grape, 

And cocoa-nut and flowery wreath, 
Which pious seamen, as they pass'd, 
Had tow'rd that holy headland cast — 
Oblations to the Genii there 
For gentler skies and breezes fair ! 
The nightingale now bends her flight 
From the high trees, where all the night 

She sung so sweet, with none to listen, 
And hides her from the morning star 

Where thickets of pomegranate glisten 
In the clear dawn — bespangled o'er 

With dew, whose night-drops would note'ai] 
The best and brightest scimetar* 
Tliat ever youthful Sultan wore 

On the first morning of his reign I 

And see — the Sun himself ! — on wings 
Of glory up the East he springs. 
Angel of Light ! who, from the time 
Those heavens began their march sublime, 
Hath first of all the starry choir 
Trod in his maker's steps of fire ! 

Where are the days, thou wondrous sphere, 
When Iran like a sun-flower, turn'd 



• In speaking of the climate of Shirnz, Francklin tHjf, 
•• the dew is of such a pure nature, thnt i^ Ihp brighleol 
•cimetar should t)e exposed to it 'ill night, il would not re- 
teive the least rust." 



THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. t65 

To meet that eye where'er it burn'd ? — 

When, from the banks of Bendemeek 
To the nut-groves of Samarcand 
Thy temples flam'd o'er all the land ? 
Where are they ? ask the shades of thera 

Who, on Cadessia's* bloody plahis, 
Saw fierce invaders pluck the gem 
From Iran's broken diadem. 

And bind her ancient faith in chains : — 
Ask the poor exile, cast alone 
On foreign shores, unlov'd, unknown, 
Beyongthe Caspian's Iron Gates, t 

Or on the snowy Mossian mountains, 
Far from his beauteous land of dates, 

Her jasHiine bowers and sunny fountains '. 
Yet happier so than if he trod 
His own belov'd but blighted sod. 
Beneath a despot stranger's nod ! — 
Oh ! he would rather houseless roam 

Where Freedom and his God may lead, 
Than be the sleekest slave at home 

That crouches to the conqueror's creed! 
Ts Iran's pride then gone forever, 

Quench' d with the flame in Mithra's eave*-" 
No — she has sons that never — never — 



• The place where the Persians were finally defeated 
ij the Arabs, and iheir ancient monarchy d^slroved. 

t Derbend.— •* I^s Tares appehent ceite ville Demk 
!^api, Porto dc Fer ; ce sont les Cafpiae Portae dea an- 
iena." ■'.£>' Herhelot. 



166 THE FIRfi-WOKSHlPPERS. 

Will Stoop to be the Moslem's slaves, 
While heaven has light or earth has gr»ve& 

Spints of fire that brood not long, 

But flash resentment back for wrong ; 

And hearts, where, slow but deep, the seed* 

Of vengeance ripen into deeds ; 

Till, in some treacherous hour of calm, 

They burst, like Zelian's giant palm,* 

Whose bu^s fly open with a sound 

That shakes the pigmy forest round ! 

Yes, Emir ! he, who scal'd that tower. 
And, had he reached thy slumbering breastj , 

Had taught thee, in a Gheber's power 
How safe e'en tyrant's heads may rest — 

Is one of many, brave as he. 

Who loathe thy haughty race and thee ; 

Who, though they Know the strife is vain — 

Who, though they know the riven chain 

SncDs but to enter in the heart 

Of him who rends its links apart, . 

Yet dare the issue — blest to be gi 

E'en for one bleeding moment free, " 

And die in pangs of liberty ! 



« The Talpol or Talipot trpp..-.'« This beautiful palm 
tree, which groHS in the heart of the forests, may ' e clasi. 
ed among the loftiest trees, and liecomes slill hieherwhen 
on the point oT bursting forth from its ieafv summit. The 
Bheath which then envelopes the flower is very large, and, 
when it bursts, makes an exp'o'ion like the report of g 
tannon -.T^unberg 



Tnt FiRE-worvSHiri'ERS, 167 

« 
Thou know'st them well — 'tis some moons since 

Thy tmbaii'd troops and blood-red flags, 
Thou satrap of a bigot Prmce 1 

Have swarm'd among those Green Sea crags; 
Yet here, e'en here, a sacred band, 
Ay, m the portal of that land 
Thou, Arab, dar'st to call thy own. 
Their spears across thy path have thrown; 
Here — ere the winds half wing' d thee o'er—' 
Rebellion brav'd thee from the shore. 

RebeUion ! foul, dishonoring word, 

Whose wrongful blight so oft has stain'd 
The holiest cause that tongue or sword 

Of mortal ever lost or gain'd. 
How many a spirit, born to bless. 

Hath sunk beneath that withering name, 
Whom but a day's, an hour's success 

Had wafted to eternal fame ! 
As exhalations when they burst 
From the warm earth, if chill'd at first, 
If check'd in soaring from the plain. 
Darken to fogs and sink again ;- - 
But if they once triumphant spread 
Their wings above the mountain-head, 
Become enthron'd in upper air, 
And turn to sun-bright glories there ! 

And who is he , 'hat wields the might 

Of Freedom on the Gr^en Sea brink, 
Belore whose sabre's dazz'ing light 



168 THE FIRE-'WOKSIIIPPERS. 

The eyes of Yemen's warriors wink f 
Who comes embower' d in the spears 
Of Kerman's hardy mountaineers? 
Those mountaineers, that, truest, last, 

CUng to their country's ancient rites, 
A.S if that God whose eyelids cast 

Their closing gleam on Iran's heights, 
Among her snowy mountains threw 
The last hght of his worship too ! 

'Tis Hafed — name of fear, whose sound 

Chills like the muttering of a charm;— 
Shout but that awful name around, 

And palsy shakes the manliest arm. 
'Tis Hafed, most accurst and dire 
(So rank'd by Moslem hate and ire) 
Of all the rebel Son's of Fire ! 
Of whose mahgn, tremendous power 
The Arabs, at their mid-walch hour 
Such tales of fearful wonder tell, 
That each affrighted sentinel 
Pulls down his cowl upon his eyes, 
Lest Hafed in the midst should rise ! 
A man, they say, of monstrous birth, 
A mingled race of flame and earth, 
Sprung from those old, enchanted kings,* 



• Tahmuras, and oilier ancient Kin<js of Persia, whos« 
adventures in Fairy Land an-iong ilie Peris and the Dive« 
maybe found in Rici-iarison's Curious Hisseriation. The 
priffin Simoorgh, ihey say, look some feather? from hef 
Sreast for Tahmnras, wi<h vvhicli he adorned his helmet 
and transmitted then? afiervards to his descenda:,t». 



THE FIRE-WOKSHIPPERS. 16S 

Who in their fairy helms of yore, 
A. feather from the mystic wings 

Of the Simoorgh resistless wore ; 
And gifted by the Fiends of Fire, 
VV^ro groan to see their shrines expire, 
With charms that, all in vain withstood, 
Would drown the Koran's light in blood! 

Such were th,; tales that won belief, 

And such the coloring Faacy gave 

To a young, warm, and dauntless Chie^ 

One who, no more than mortal brave, 
Fought for the land his soul ador'd. 

For happy homes, and altars free — 
His only tahsman, the sword. 

His only spell-word. Liberty ! 
One of that ancient hero line, 
Along whose glorious current shine 
Names that have sanctified their blood ; 
As Lebanon's small mountain flood 
Is rendered holy by the ranks 
Of sainted cedars on its banks !* 
'Twas not for him to crouch the knee 
Tamely to Moslem tyranny ; — 
*Twas not for him, whose soul was cast 
In the bright mould of ages past, 
Whose melancholy spirit, fed 
With all the glories of the dead. 



* Tliia rivulet, says Dandini, is called the Holj RiFei 
fc/rr Ite " cedar-saints," anong which ' rises. 



.70 THE riRE- WORSHIPPERS. 

Though fram'd for Iran's happiest years, 
Was born among her chains and tears ! 
'Twas not for him to swell the crowd 
Of slavish heads, that, shrinking, bow'd 
Before the Moslem, as he pass'd, 
Like shrubs beneath the poison blast — 
No — far he fled, indignant fled 

The pageant of his country's shame , 
While every tear her children shed 

Fell on his soul like drops of flame; 
And as a lover hails the dawn 

Of a first smile, so welcom'd he 
The sparkle of the first sword drawn 
For vengeance and for liberty ! 
But vain was valor — vain the flower 
OfKERMAN, in that dreadful hour, 
Against Al Hassan's whelming power. 
In vain they met him, helm to helm, 
Upon the threshhold of that realm 
He come in bigot pomp to sway. 
And with their corpses block' d his way— 
In vain — for every lance they rais'd, 
Thousands around the conqueror blaz'd ; 
For every arm that lin'd their shore, 
Myriads of slaves were wafted o'er — 
A bloody, bold, and countless crowd, 
Before whose swarms as fast they bow'd 
As dates beneath the locust cloud ! 
There stood — but one short league away 
From old Harmozia's sultry bay — 
A rffckv mountain, o'er the Sea 



THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 171 

Of Oman feeetling awfully : 
A last and solitary link 

Of those stupendous chains that reach 
^rom the broad Caspian's reedy brink 

Down winding to the Green Sea beach. 
Around its base the bare rocks stood, 
Like naked giants, in the flood, 

As if to guard the Gulf across ; 
While, on its peak, that brav'd the sky, 
A ruin'd temple tower'd, so high 

That oft the sleeping albatross* 
Struck the wild ruins with her wing. 
And from her cloud-rock'd slumbering 
Started — to find man's dwelling there 
In her own silent fields of air ! 
Beneath, terrific caverns gave 
Dark welcome to each stormy wave 
That dash'd, hke midnight revellers, in; — 
And such the strange, mysterious din 
At times throughout those caverns roU'd ;• ■ 
And such the fearful wonders told 
Of restless spirits im prison' d there. 
That bold were Moslem, who would dare 
At twilight hour, to steer his skiff 
Beneath the Gheber's lonely cliff. 
On the land side, those towers* sublime, 
That seem'd above the grasp of Time, 
Were sever' d from the haunts of men 



* These birds sleep in the air. The; are most coimmg 
about the Cape of Good Hooa 



i72 THE FIRE-WORSHIP PERS. 

By a wide, deep, and wizard glen, 
So fathomless, so full of gloom. 

No eye could pierce the void between; 
It seem'd a place wheie Glioles might come 
With their foul banquets from the tomb. 

And in its caverns feed unseen. 
Like distant thunder, from below, 

The sound of many torrents came ; 
Too deep for eye or car to know 
If 'twere the sea's imprison'd flow, 

Or floods of ever-restless flame. 
For each ravine, each rocky spire 
Of that vast mountain stood on fire ;' 
And though, forever past the days 
When God was worshipp'd in the blaze 
That from its lofty altar shone — 
Though fled the Priests, the votaries gone, 
Still did the mighty flame burn on 
Through chance and change , through good and ill, 
Like its own God's eternal will, 
Deep, constant, bright, unquenchable ! 
Thither the vanquish' d Haeed led 

His little army's last remains ; 
"Welcome, terrific glen !" he said, 
"Thy gloom, that Eblis' self might dread, 

Is h aven to him who flies from chains !'* 
O'er a dark, narrow bridge-way, known 
To him and to his Chiefs alone, 



♦ The Ghebers generally built their temples over i 
terraneofw fires. 



THE FIRE- nVORSHIPPERS. 173 

They cross'd the chasm and gain'd the t.*wera ;- 
" This home," he cried, " at least is ours— 
Here we may bleed, unmock'd by hyjnns 

Of Moslem triumph o'er our head ; 
Here we may fall, nor leave our limbs 

To quiver to the Moslem's tread ; 
Stretch'd on this rock, while vulture's beaks 
Are whetted on our yet warm cheeks, 
Here — happy that no tyrant's eye 
Gloats on our torments — we may die !" 

'Twas night when to those towers they came; 
And gloomily the fitful flame. 
That from the ruin'd altar broke, 
Glar'd on his features, as he spoke : — 
*' 'Tis o'er — what men could do, we've done: 
If Iran will look tamely on, 
And see her priests, her warriors driven 

Before a sensual bigot's nod, 
A wretch who takes his lusts to heaven, 

And makes a pander of his God ! 
If her proud sons, her high-born souls. 

Men in v/hose veins — oh last disgrace ! 
The blood of Zal and RrsTAM,* rolls — 

If they will court this upstart race, 
And turn from Mithra's ancient ray, 
To kneel at shrines of yesterday ! 
If they will crouch to Iran's foes, 



♦ Ancient heroes of Persia. " Among the Gheber* 
there are some who boeSt Uieir descent from RiBtam."*- 
Stephen's Perna . 



174 THE FIRE-WOKSHIPPEUS. 

Why, let them — till the land's despoil 
Cries out to heav'n, and bondage grows 

Too vile for e'en tne vile to bear ! 
Till shame at last, long hidden, burns 
Their inmost core, and conscience turns 
Each coward tear the slave let's fall 
Back on his heart in drops of gall ! 
But here, at least are arms unchain'd, 
And souls that thraldom never stain'd ; — 

This spot, at least, no foot of slave 
Or satrap ever yet profan'd ; 

And, though but few, though fast the wave 
Of life is ebbing from our veins. 
Enough for vengeance still remains. 
As panthers, after sot of sun, 
Rush from the roots of Lebanon 
Across the dark sea-robber's way,* 
We'll bound upon our startled prey ; — 
And when some hearts that proudest swell 
Have felt our falchion's last farewell ; 
When Hope's expiring throb is o'er. 
And e'en Despair can pompt no more, 
This spot shall be the sacred grave 
Of the last few who, vainly brave, 
Die for the land they cannot save !" 
His Chiefs stood round-^each shining blade 
Upon the broken altar laid — 



♦ See Russell's account of the panthers attacking tra» 
reliefs in tho i -ght on the sea-sliore about the roota of 
Vebanon. 



THE FIRE-'.VORSIIIPPERS. 175 

And though so wild and desolate 

Those courts where once the mighty sate ; 

Nor longer on those mouldering towers 

Was seen the feast of fruits and flowers, 

With which of old the Magi fed 

The wandering spirhs of their dead ;* 

Though neither priests nor rites were there, 

Nor charmed leaf of pure pomegranate,t 
Nor hymn, nor censers fragrant air, 

Nor symbol of their worshipp'd planet ;t 
Yet the same God that heard their sires 
Heard them ; while on that altar's fires 
They swore the latest, holiest deed 
Of the few hearts still left to bleed, 
Should be, in Iran's injured name, 
To die upon that Mount of Flame — 
The last of all her patriot line, 

* Among other ceremonies, the Magi used to place 
upon the tops of high towers various kinds of rich viands, 
upon which it was supposed the Peris and the spirits of 
their departed heroes regaled themselves."- ••i?^c/^fl^d!w»l. 

t In the ceremonies of the Ghebers round their Fire, as 
described bv Lord, " the Daroo," he sa.vs; '* giveth thera 
water to drink, and a pomegranate leaf to chew in the 
mouth, to cleanse them from inward uncleanness." 

X " Early in ihe morning, they (the Parsees or Ghebers 
at Oulam) go in crowds to pay their devotions io the Sun, 
to whom upon all the altars there are spheres consecratea, 
made by mage, resembling the circles of the Sun ; and 
when the sun rises, these orbs seem to tte inflamed, and 
to turn round with a great noise. They have every one 
a censer in thiir liwnds^ and ,:ffer incense to thesuQ."-* 
Rabtn Benjanan. 



176 THE FIRE- WORSHIPPERS, 

Before her last untrampled Shrine ! 

Brave, suffering soals ! they little knevi' 
How many a tear their injuries drew 
From one meek maid, one gentle foe. 
Whom Love first touch' d with others' wo-* 
Whoso life, ss free from thought as sin. 
Slept like a lake, till love threw in 
His talisman, and woke the tide, 
And spread its trembling circles wide. 
Once. Emir ! thy unheeding child. 
Mid a)i this havoc, bloom'd and smil'd — 
Tran'^uil as on some battle-plaia 

The Persian lily shines and towers, 
Before the combat's reddening stain 

Hat!i fall'n upon her golden flowers. 
Light-hearted maid, unaw'd, unmov'd, 
While heav'n but spar'd the sire she lov'd. 
Once at thy evening tales of blood 
Unhstening and aloof she stood— 
And oft, when thou hast pac'd along 

Thy Haram halls with furious heat. 
Hast thou not curs' d her cheerful song, 

That came across thee, calm and sweet. 
Like lutes of angels, touch'd so near 
Hell's confines, that the damn'd can hear; 
Far other feelings Love hath brought — 

Her soul all flame, her brow all sadness, 
She now has but the one dear thought, 

And thinks that o'er, almost to madnecss! 
Oft doth her sinking heart recall 
His words — ' ' for my sake weep for all ;** 



THE FIRF.-AVOrvSIIIFl'EKS. 



177 



And bitterly, as day on day 

Of rebel carnage fast succeeds, 
She weeps a lover snatch' d away 

In every Gheber wretch that bleeds. 
There- s not a sabre meets her eye, 

But with his life-blood seems to swim 
There's not an arrow wings the sky, 

But fancy turns its point to him. 
No more she brings with footstep light 
Al Hassan's falchion for the fight ; 
And— had he look'd with clearer sight- 
Had not the mists, that ever rise 
From a foul spirit, dimn'd his eyes— • 
He would have mark'd her shuddering frame 
When from the field of blood he came ; 
The faltering speech — the look estrang'd — 
Voice, step, and life, and beauty chang'd — 
He would have mark'd all this and known 
Such change is brought by l.ove alone ! 

Ah ! not the love that should have bless'd 
So young, so innocent a breast : 
Not the pure open prosperous love, 
That, pledg'd on earth and seal'd above, 
Grows in the world's approving eyes, 

In friendship's smile and home's caress, 
Collecting all the heart's sweet ties 

Into one knot of happiness ! 
No, Hind A, no — thy fatal flame 
Is nurs'd in silence, sorrow, shame. — 

A passion, without hope or pleasure, 
In thy soul's darkness buried deep, 
12 



i78 THE FIKE-WORSHIPFERS. 

It lies /ike some ill-gotten treasure — 
Some idol without shrine or name, 
O'er which its pale-ey'd votaries keep 
Unholy watch, while others sleep ! 
Seven nights have darken'd Oman'? Seaj 

Since last, beneath the moonlight lay, 
She saw his light oar rapidly 

Hurry her Gheber's bark away — 
And still she goes, at midnight hour, 
To Aveep alone in that high bower, 
And watch, and look along the deep 
For him whose smiles first made her weep. 
But watching, weeping, all was vain, 
She never saw his bark again. 
The owlet's solitary cry, 
The-night-hawk, flitting darkly by, 

And oft the hateful caiTion bird, 
Heavily flapping his clogged wing. 
Which reek'd with that day's banquetting, 

Was all she saw, was all she heard. 

*Tis the eighth mom — Al Hassan's brow 
Is brighten'd with unusual joy — 

What mighty mischief glads him now, . 
Who never smiles but to destroy ? 

The sparkle upon Herkend's Sea, 

When tost at midnight furiously,* 



* •' It is oliserved with resspf-c.t '•o the Sea of Herkwid,! 
that, when it is tossed hy tpmpeBliioiis winds it sparklm? 
\ike fire "•■•TTovelsofluo lUchamn^dans. 



THE FIRE-WORSHIPrERS, 179 

Tells not a wreck and ruin nigh, 

More surely than that smiUng eye ! 

" Up, daughter up — the Kerna's* breith 

Has blown a blast would waken drath. 

And yet thou sleep'st — up, child, and see 

This blessed day for heaven and me, 

A day more rich in Pagan blood 

Than ever flash'd o'er Oman's flood. 

Before another dawn shall shine. 

His head, heart, limbs — will all be mine; 

This very night his blood shall steep 

These hands all over ere I sleep !" 

** His blood !" she faintly screara'd — her mind 

Still singling one from all mankind — 

*' Yes — spite of his ravines and towers, 

Hafed, my child, this night is ours. 

Thanks to all-conquering treachery, 

Without whose aid the links accurst, 
That bind these impious slaves, would be 

Too strong for Alla's self to burst ! 
That rebel fiend, whose blade has spread 
My path with piles of Moslem dead. 
Whose baffling spells had almost driven 
Back from their course the Swords of Heaven, 
This night, with all his band, shall know 
How deep an Arab's steel can go, 



* A kind of trompet :-••" It was that used by Tamer- 
lane, the sound of which is described 89 uncommonly 
dreadful, and so loud as tc heard a* a distance of severa/ 
xuiie%.""-IiichaTdeon. 



180 THE FIRE-WORSHIPtERS. 

When God and Vengeance speed the blow, 
And — Prophet — by that holy wrea^li 
Thou wor'st on Ohod's field of death,* 
I swear, for every sob that parts 
In anguish from these heathen hearts, 
A gem from Persia's plunder'd mines 
Shall glitter on thy Shrine of Shrines. 
But ha! — she sinks — that look so vild— - 
Those lived lips — my child, my child, 
This life of blood befits not thee. 
And thou must back to Araby. 

Ne'er had I risk'd thy timid sex 
la scenes that man himself might dread, 
Had I not hop'd our every tread 

Would be on prostrate Persian necks — 
Curst race, they offer sv»-ords instead ! 
But cheer thee, maid — the wind that now 
Is blowing o'er thy feverish brow. 
To-day shall waft thee from the shore ; 
And, ere a drop of this night's gore 
Have time to chill in yonder towers, 
Thou' It see thy own sweet Arab bowers !" 
His bloody boast was all too true — 
There lurk'd one wretch among tlve few 
Whom Hafeu's eagle eye could count 
Around him on that Fiery Mount. 
One miscreant, who for gold betray'd 



■* " Alahommed had two helmets, an interior and exte« 
•ior one; the latter of which, called A! Maivaahah, tha 
fillet, or wreathed garland, he wore a' the baUle of Ohoi.' 
• •Universal h\story 



THB FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. ISl 

fjie path-way through the valley's si adt 

Fo those high lowers where Freedom stood 

In her last hold of flame and blood. 

Left on the field last dreadful night, 

When sallying from their Sacred Height, 

The Ghebers fought hope's farewell fight, 

He lay — but died not with the brave ; 

That sun which should have gilt his grave, 

Saw him a traitor and a slave ; — 

And, while the few, who thence return'd 

To their high rocky fortress, mourn'd 

For him among the matchless dead 

They left behind on glory's bed. 

He liv'd, and, in the face of morn, 

Laugh' d them and Faith and heaven to scorn f 

Oh for a tongue to curse the slave, 

Whose treason, hke a deadly blight, 
Comes o'er the councils of the brave, 

And blasts them in their hour of might I 
May hfe's unblessed cup, for him, 
Be drugg'd with treacheries to the brim — 
With hopes that but allure to fly. 

With joys that vanish while he sips, 
Like Dead-Sea fruits that tempt the eye, 

But turn to ashes on the lips I 
'^:s country's curse, his children's shamo, 
■Outcast of virtue, peace, and fame. 
May he, at last, with hps of flame 
On the parch'd desert thirsting die — 
While lakes that shone in mockery nigh 
Are fading off, untouch'd, untasted- 



183 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 

Like rhe once glorious hopes he blasted J 
And, when from earth his spirit fiies, 

Just Prophet, let the damn'd one dwell 
Full in the sight of Paradise, 

Beholding heaven and feeling hell ! 

Lalla Rookh had had a dream the night be* 
fore, which, in spite of the impending fate o\ 
poor Hafed, made her heart more than usually 
cheerful during the morning, and gave her cheeka 
all the freshened animation of a flower that the 
Bidmusk has just passed over. She fancied that 
she was sailing on that Eastern Ocean, where the 
sea-gipsies who live for ever on the water, enjoy 
a perpetual summer in wandering from isle to 
isle, v/hen she saw a small gilded bark approach- 
ing her. It was like one of those boats which 
the Maldivian islanders annually send adriit, at 
the mercy of winds and waves, loaded with per- 
fumes, flowers, and oderiferous wood, as an of- 
fering to the Spirit whom they call King of the 
Sea. At first, this little bark appeared to be 
empty, but on coming nearer 

She had proceeded thus far in relating the 
dream to her ladies, when Feramorz appeared 
at the door of the pavilion. In his presence, of 
course, every thing else was forgotten, and tho 
continuance of the story was instantly requested 
by all. Fresh wood of aloes was sent to burn 
in the cassolets ; — the violet sherbets were hasti- 
ly handed around and after a short prelude on 



THE FlRK-WOKSIlirPERh, 183 

his lute, in the pathetic measure of Naya, which 
is always used to express the lamentations of ab 
sent lovers, the poet thus continued : — 

The day is lowering — stilly black 
Sleeps the grim wave, while heaven's rack, 
Dispers'd and wild, 'twixt earth and sky 
Hangs Uke a shattered canopy I 
There's not a cloud in that blue plain, 
But tells of storm to come or past ; — 
Here, flying loosely as the mane 

Of a young war-horse in the blast ;— 
There, roU'd in masses dark and swellings 
As proud to be the thunder's dwelling ! 
While some, already burst and riven. 
Seem melting down the verge of heaven ; 
As though the infant storm had rent 

The mighty womb that gave him birth, 
And, having swept the firmanent. 

Was now in fierce career for earth. 
On earth, 'twas yet all calm around, 
A pulseless silence, dread, profound, 
More awful than the tempest's sound. 
The diver steer'd for Okmus' bowers, 
And moor'd his skiff till calmer hours' 
The sea-birds, with portentous screech, 
Flew fast to land : upon the beach 
The pilot oft had paus'd, with glance 
Turn'd upward to that wild expanse ; 
And all was boding, drear and dark 
As her own soul, when Hinda's bark 



184 THE FIRE-"\VOIlSHIPPERS. 

Went slowly from the Persian shore.— 
No music tim'd her parting oar,* 
Nor friends upon the lessening strand 
Linger'd to wave the unseen hand, 
Or speak the farewell, heard no more. 
But lone, unheeded, from the bay 
The vessel takes its mournful way, 
Like some ill-destin'd hark that steers 
In silence through the Gate of Tears.t 
And where was stern Al Hassan then 
Could not that saintly scourge of men 
From bloodshed and devotion spare 
One minute for a farewell there ? 
No — close within, in changeful fits 
Of cursing and of prayer, he sits 
In savage loneliness to brood 
Upon the coming night of blood. 

With that keen, second-scent of death, 
By which the vulture snuffs his food 

In the still warm and living breath !t 

* «' The Easterns tised to set out on their longer voy^ 
ages with vnualc.—ffarmer. 

t««The Gale of Tears, the straits or passage into ths 
Red Sea, commonl.v callnd natiHlmandei. Tt received thif 
name from the old Ar»bians, on account of the danger of 
the navigation, and the number of shipwrecks bj which 
It was distinguished ; wliich induced them to consider aa 
dead, and to wear mourring for, all who had the boldness 
to hazard the passage th. ou^h it in;o the Elliiopic ocean." 
'•■Hichardson. 

fl have been told that whensoever an animal falls down 
dead, one or more vu'tures, unsecm before. Instantly ap 
pear "-Penruwi. 



THE FIRE- WOKS HIPPEES. 185 

While o'er the wave his wecpuig daughter 

fa wafted from the scenes of slaughter, 

As a young bird of Babylon,* 

Let loose to tell of victory won, 

Flies home with wing, ah ! not unstain'd 

By the red hands that held her chain' d. 

And does the long-left home she seeks 

Light up no gladness Oii her cheeks? 

The flowers she nurs'd — the well-known groves. 

Where oft in dreams her spirit roves — 

Once more to see her dear gazelles 

Come bounding with their silver bells; 

tier birds' new plumage to behold, 

And the gay, gleaming fishes count, 
She left, all fiUeited wifh gold. 

Shooting around their jasper fount. t— 
Her little garden mosque to see. 

And once again, at evening hour, 
To tell her ruby rosary 

In her own sweet accacia bower. 
Can these delights, that wait her now, 
Call up no sunshine on her brow? 
No — silent, from her train apart — 
As if e'en now she felt at heart 



* " They fasten aome writing 1o ihe wings of a Bagdat, 
•r Babjionian ps^n'tn .^' ■ - Trnvels of certain Enf;lishmen. 

t''The Empress of Jehan-Guire us^jj to divert hersell 
«rilh feeding lame fish in iier cannlB, some of which were 
manj years afierwards known by fillets of gold, which ho 
iaused to be put round \.hem."'- Harris. 



186 THE FIRE-AV0RSH1PPER3. 

The chill of tier approaching doom — 
She sits, all lovely in her gloom, 
As a pale angel of the grave ; 
And o'er the wide tempestuous wave, 
Looks, w^itb a shudder to those towets, 
Where, in a few short awful hours, 
Blood, blood, in steaming tides shall run, 
Foul incense for to-morrow's sun! 

"Where art xhou, glorious stranger! thoU} 
So lov'd, so lost, where art thou now? 
Foe — Gheber — infidel— whate'er 
Th' unhallow'd name thou'rt doom'd to beaTi 
Still glorious— still to this fond heart 
Dear as its blood, whate'er thou art ! 
Yes, Alla — dreadful Alla ! yes — 
If there be wrong, be crime in this, 
Let the black waves that round us roll, 
Whelm me this instant, ere my soul. 
Forgetting faith, home, father, all — 
Before its earthly idol fall, 
Nor worship e'en Thyself above him — 
For oh ! so wildly do I love him. 
Thy Paradise itself were dim 
And joyless, if not shar'd with him!" 
Her hands were clasp' d — her eyes upturn'd, 

Dropping their tears 'ike moonlight rainj 
And, though her lip, fond raver ! burn'd 

With words of passion, bold, profane, 
yet was there light around her brow. 

A hoUness in those dark -^yes, 



THE FIRE WORSHIPPERS. 187 

Which show'd — though wandering earthward 
now — 

Her spirit's home was in the skies. 
Yes — for a spirit, pure as hers, 
Is always pure, e'en while it errs ; 
As sunshine, broken in the rill, 
Though turn'd astray, is sunshine still! 
So wholly had her mind forgot 
All thoughts but one, she heeded not 
The rising storm — the wave that cast 
A moment's midnight as it pass'd; 
Nor heard the frequent shout, the tread 
Of gathering tumult o'er her head — 
Clash'd swords, and tongues that seem'd to via 
With the rude riot of the sky. 
But hark ! that war-whoop on the deck — 

That crash, as if each engine there, 
Mast, sails, and all, were gone to wreck, 

'Mid yells and stampings of despair ! 
Merciful heaven what can it be ? 
'Tis not the storm, though fearfully 
The ship has shuddered as she rode 
O'er mountain waves — " Forgive me, God ! 
Forgive me" — shriek' d the maid and knelt, 
Trembling all over — for she felt, 
As if her judgment hour was near; 
While crouching round, half dead wi'h fear, 
Her handmaids clung, nor breath'd norstirr'd-* 
When hark ! — a second crash — a third — 
And now, as if a bolt of thunder 
Had riv n the laboring planka asunder, 



i88 THE FIRE- WORSHIPPERS. 

The deck falls in — what horrors then ! 
Blood, wa- es, and tackle, swords and men 
Come mix'd together through the chasm ;- 
Some wretches in their dying spasm 
Still fighting on — and some that call 
"For God and Iran !" as they fall ! 
Whose was the hand that turn'd away 
The perils of th' infuriate fray. 
And snatch' d her, breathless, from beneath 
This wilderment of wreck and death ? 
She knew not — for a faintness came 
Chill o'er her, and her sinking frame, 
Amid the ruins of that hour. 
Lay, like a pale and rcorched flower, 
Beneath the red volcano's shower ! 
But oh ! the sights and sounds of dread 
That shock'd her, ere her senses Hed! 
The yawning deck — the crowd that strove 
Upon the tottering planks above — 
The sail, whose fragments, shivering o'er 
The strugglers* heads, all dash'd with gore, 
Flutter'd like bloody flags — the clash 
Of sabres, and the lightning's flash 
Upon their blades, high toss'd about 
Like meteor brands* — as if throughout 

The elements one fury ran. 
One gene.-al rage, that left a doubt 

Which was the fiercer, Hcav*n or Man ! 
Once too — but no — it could not be— 

* The Bieteors that Plinv calls " faces." 



THE FIRE-W0RSHIPPEK5. 189 

'Twas fancy all — yet once she thought, 
While yet her lading eyes could see, 

High on the ruin'd deck she caught 
A glimpse of that unearthly form, 

That glory of her soul— e'en then, 
Amid the whirl of wreck and storm, 

Shming above his fellow men. 
As on some black and troublous night, 
The star of Egypt,* whose proud light, 
Never hath beam'd on those who rest 
In the White Islands of the West,t 
Burns through the storm with looks of flame 
That put heaven's cloudier eyes to shame ! 
But no — 'twas but the minute's dream — 
A fantasy — and ere the scream 
Had half-way passed her pallid Hps, 
A death-Uke swoon, a chill eclipse 
Of soul and sense its darkness spread 
Around her, and she sunk, as dead ! 
How calm, how beautiful comes on 
The stilly hour when storms are gone : 
When warring winds have died away, 
An(4 clouds, beneath the glancing ray. 
Melt off, and leave the land and sea 
Sleeping in bright tranquility — 
Fresh as if Day again were born, 
Again upon the lap of Morn ! 

♦ " The brilliant Canopua, unseen in European eli* 
mates."- --^rtmn. 

t See Wilford'a learned Essajs on the Sacred Iflletio 
file West. 



190 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 

When the h"ght blossoms, rudely torn 
And scatter' d at the whirlwind's will. 
Hang floating in the pure air still ; 
Filling it all with piecious balm, 
In gratitude for this sweet calm ; 
And every drop the thunder-showers 
Have left upon the grass and flowers 
Sparkles, as 'twere that lightning-gem* 
Whose liquid flame is born of them ! 

When 'stead of one unchanging breeze, 
There blow a thousand gentle airs, 
And each a different perfume bears — 

As if the loveliest plants and trees 
Had vassal breezes of their own 
To watch and wait on them alone, 
And wafi no other breath than theirs ! 
When the blue waters rise and fall. 
In sleepy sunshine mantling all 
And e'en that swell the tempest leaves 
Is like the full and silent heaves <m 

Of lovers' hearts, when newly blest, * 

Too newly to be quite at rest ! 
Such was the golden hour that broke , 

Upon the world when Hinda woke 
From her long trance, and heard around 

* A precious stone of the Indies, called by the ancienti 
Ceraurijum, because it was supposed lo be found in placea 
where thunder had fallen. TertulliBn s;ij8 it has a glit- 
tering appearance, as if there liad been fire in it ; and the 
author of the Dissertalion in Hairis's Vojages sijpposesil 
to tje the opal 



THE riRi-worvSiiiprERs. 19i 

No motion but the waters sound 

Rippling against the vessel's side, 

As slow it mounted o'er the tide. — ■ 

But where is she? — her eyes are dark, 

Are wilder'd still — is this the bark, 

The same, that from Harmozia's bay 

Bore her at morn — whose bloody way 

The sea-dog track'd? — no — strange and net 

Is all that meets her wondering view. 

Upon a galliot's deck she lies, 

Beneath no rich pavilion's shade. 
No plumes to fan her sleeping eyes. 

Nor jasmine on her pillow laid. 
But the rude litter, roughly spread 
With war-cloaks, is her homely bed, 
And shawl and sash, on javelins hung, 
For awning o'er her head are flung. 
Shuddering she look'd around — there lay 

A group of warriors in the sun 
Resting their limbs, as for that day 

Their ministry of death were done. 
Some gazing on the drowsy sea, 
Lost in unconscious reverie ; 
And some, who seem'd but ill to brook 
That sluggish calm, with many a look 
To the slack sail impatient cast. 
As loose it flagg'd around the mast. 
Blest Alla ! who shall save her now ? 

There's not in all that warrior-band 
One Arab sword, one turban'd brow 

From her own Faitj'iful Moslem land. 



192 THE FIHE-V/ORSHIPPERS. 

Their garb — the leathern bell* that wraps 

Each yellovv vestt — that rebel hue — 
The Tartar fleece upon their caps t — 

Yes — yes — her fears are all too true, 
And heav'n hath, in this dreadful hour, 
Abandon'd her to Hafee's power ; — 
Hafed, the Gheber I — at the thought 

Her very heart's blood chills within;— 
lie, whom her soul was hourly taught 

To loathe, as some foul fiend of sin, 
Some minister, whom hell had sent 
To spread its blast, where'er it went, 
And fling, as o'er our earth he trod, 
His shadow betwixt man and God ! 
And she is now his captive — thrown 
In his fierce hands, aUve, alone ; 
His the infuriate band she sees. 
All infidels — all enemies ! 
What was the daring hope that then 
Cross' d her like lightning, as again. 
With boldness that despair had lent. 

She darted through that armed crowd 
A look so searching, so intent. 

That e'en the sternest warrior bow'd 
Abash'd, when he her glances caught. 
As if he guess' d whose form they sought, 

♦ D'lierbelot, Art. Agduani. 

t "The Giiehera are known by a dark yellow eoJof, 
;Thich the nrifn affect in their do\h-;s.''-"Tkevenol. 

X " The Kolah, or cap worn by ihe Persiana ia madecf 
Hie skin of the sheep of Tariary."-- Waring. 



THE FIRE' WORSHIl PEES. 193 

But no — she sees him not — -'tis gone — 
The vision, that before her shone 
Through all the maze of blood and storm, 
Is fled — 'twas but a phantom form — 
One of those passing, rainbow dreams, 
Half hght, half shade, which Fancy's beams 
Paint on the fleeting mists that roll 
In trance or slumber round the soul ! 
But now the bark, with liveher bound, 

Scales the blue wave — the crew's in motion-* 
The oars are out, and with light sound 
Break the bright mirror of the ocean, 
Scattering its brilliant fragments round. 
And now she sees — with horror sees 

Their course is tow'rd that mountain hold—" 
Those towers, that make her life-blood freeze. 
Where Mecca's godless enemies 
Lie, hke beleaguer'd scorpions, roU'd 
In their last deadly, venomous fold I 
Amid th' illumin'd land and flood. 
Sunless that mighty mountain stood ; 
Save where, above its awful head, 
There shone a flaming cloud, blood-red, 
As 'twere the flag of destiny 
Hung out to mark where death would be l 
Had her bewilder' d mind the power 
Of thought in this terrific hour. 
She well might marvel where or how 
Man's foot could scale that mountain's Vrow 
Since ne'er had Arab heard or known 
Of path but th-ough the g.cn alone. 

13 »^ 



194 THE FIRE- WORSHIPPERS. 

But e\ery thought was lost in fear, 
When, as their bounding bark drew near 
The craggy base, she felt the waves 
Hurry thern tow'rd those dismal cavea 
That from the deep in windings pass 
Beneath the mount's volcanic mass : 
And loud a voice on deck commands 
To lower the mast and light the brands .-*» 
Instantly o'er the dashing tide 
Withni a cavern's mouth they glide, 
Gloomy as that eternal Porch 

Through which departed spirits go ; — 
Not e'en the flare of brand and torch 

Its flickering Hght could further throw 

Than the thick flood that boil'd^ below. • 
Silent they floated — as if each 
Sat breathless, and too aw'd for speech 
In that dark chasm, where even sound 
Seem'd dark — so tuUenly around 
The goblin echoes of the cave 
Mutter'd it o'er the long black wave, 
As 'twere some secret of the grave ! 
But soft — they pause — the current turns 
Beneath them from its onward track; 
Some mighty, unseen barrier spurns 

The vexed tide, all foaming, back. 
And scarce the oar's redoubled force 
Can stem the eddy's whirling course : 
When, hark ! — some desperate foot haa sprung 
Among the rocks — the chain is flung— 
The oars are un — the f -«npple cUngs 



THE FIRE-WOKSHIPPERS. 95 

And the toss'd bark in moorings swings. 

Just then a day-beam, through the shade, 

Broke tremulous — but, ere the maid 

Can see from whence the brightness steals, 

Upon her brow she snuddering feels 

A viewless hand, that promptly ties 

A bandage round her burning eyes ; 

While the rude litter where she lies, 

Uplifted by the warrior throng, 

O'er the steep rocks is borne along. 

Blest power of sunshine ! genial day, 

What balm, what life is in thy ray ! 

To feel thee is such real bliss. 

That had the world no joy but this. 

To sit in sunshine calm and sweet — 

It were a world too exquisite 

For man to leave it for the gloom. 

The deep, cold shadow of the tomb ! 

E'en HiNDA, though she saw not where 

Or whither wound the perilous road. 
Yet knew by that awakening air, 

Which suddenly around her glow'd. 
That they had risen from darkness then, 
And breath' d the sunny world again! 
But soon this balmy freshness fled : 
For now the steepy labyrinth led 
Through damp and gloom — ' mid crash of boiighi, 
And fall of loosen 'd crags that rouse 
The leopard from his hungrv sleep 

Who, sta-tuig, thinks each crag a prey, 



;% THE FIRE-WORSHIFPKRS. 

And long is heard from steep to steep, 

Chasing them down their thundering wnf 
The jackal','? cry — the distant moan 
Of the hyaena, fierce and lone ; — 
And that eternal, saddening sound 
Of torrents in the glen beneath, 
As 'twere the ever-dark Profound 

That rolls beneath the Bridge of Death ! 
All, all is fearful — e'en to see. 

To gaze on those terrific things 
She now but blindly hears, would be 

Relief to her imaginings ! 
Since never yet was shape so dread, 

But fancy, thus in darkness thrown, 
And by such sounds of horror fed. 

Could frame more dreadful of her own 
But does she dream ? has fear again 
Perplex' d the workings of her brain. 
Or did a voice, all music, then 
Come from the gloom, low whispering near— 
' Tremble not, love, thy Gheber's here!" 
She does not dream — all sense — all ear. 
She drinks the words, "thy Gheber's here." 
'Twas his own voice — she could not err — 
Throughout the breathing world's extent 
There was but one such voice for her. 

So kind, so soft, so eloquent ! 
Oh ! sooner shall the rose of May 

Mistake her own sweet nightingale, 
And to some meaner minstrel's lav 



THE FIRE-WORSHIPIERS. 197 

Open her bosom's glowing veil,* 
Than Love shall ever doubt a tone, 
A. breath of the beloved one I 
Though blest, 'mid all her ills, to think 

She has that one beloved near, 
Whose smile, though met on ruin's brink. 

Hath power to make e'en ruin dear — 
Yet soon this gleam of rapture, crost 
By fears for him, is chill'd and lost. 
How shall the ruthless Hafed brook 
That one of Gheber blood should look, 
With aught but curses in his eye, 
On her — a maid of Araby — 
A Moslem maid — the child of him, 

Whose bloody banner's dire success 
Hath left their altars cold and dim. 

And their fair land a wilderness ! 
And, worse than all, that night of blood 

Which comes so fast — oh ! who shall stay 
The sword, that once hath tasted food 

Of Persian hearts, or turn its way ! 
What arm shall then the victim cover, 
Or from her father shield her lover ? 
■' Save him, my God !" she inly cries — 
" Save him this night — and if thine eyes 

Have ever welcom'd with delight 
The sinner's tears, the sacrifice 



• A frequent image among the oriental poeti, «* Th< 
nightingales warbled their enchanting notes, and rent th* 
\hin veilB of the rose-bud a id the rose."- Vo/nt. 



lifS THE FIRE*-WORS..l?PERS. 

Of si.iner's hearts — guard him this night, 
And here, before thy throne, I swear 
From my heart's inmost core to tear 

Love, hope, remembrance, though they be 
Link'd witii each quivering hfe-string there, 

And give it bleeding al! to Thee ! 
Let him but Kve, the burning tear, 
The sighs, the sinful, yet so dear. 
Which have been all too much his own, 
Shall from this hour be heaven's alone. 
STouth pass'd in penitence, and age, 
In long and painful pilgrimage. 
Shall leave no traces of the flame 
That wastes me now — nor shall his name 
E'er bless ray lips, but when I pray 
For his dear spirit, that away 
Casting from its angelic ray 
Th' eclipse of earth, he too may shine 
Redeem'd, all glorious and all Thine ! 
Think — think what victory to win 
One radiant soul like his from sin ; — 
One wandering star of virtue back 
To its own native, heaven-ward track ! 
Let him but hve, and both are Thine, 

Together Thine — for, blest or crost. 
Living or dead, his doom is mine ; 

And if Ae perish, both are lost !" 

The next evening Lalla Rookh was entreat- 
ed by her ladies to continue the relation of hei 
uronderf'il dream ; but the fearful interest thai 



THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 199 

aung round the fate of Hind a and her lover had 
completely removed every trace of it from her 
mind ; — much to the disappointment of a fair seel 
or two in her train, who prided themselves on 
their skill in interpreting visions, and who had 
already remarked, as an unlucky omen, that the 
Princess, on the very morning after the dream, 
had worn a silk dyed with the blossoms of the 
sorrowful tree, Nilica. 

Fadladeen, whos'^ wrath had more than once 
broken out during the recital of some parts of 
this most heterodox poem, seemed at length to 
have made up his mind to the infliction ; and 
took his seat for the evening with all the patience 
of a martyr, while the Poet continued his pro- 
fane and seditious story thus : — 

To tearless eyes and hearts at ease 

The leafy shores and sun-bright seas, 

That lay beneath that mountain's height, 

Had been a fair, enchanting sight. 

'Twas one of those ambrosial eves 

A day of storm so often leaves 

At its calm setting — when the West 

Opens her golden bowers of rest. 

And a moist radiance from the skies 

Shoots trembling down, as from the eyes 

Of some meek penitent whose last 

Bright hours atone for dark or as past, 

And whose sweet tears o'er wrong forgiven, 

Bhine. as they fall with ligi^t from heaven 1 



200 THL FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 

'Twas Stillness all — the winds that late 

Had rush'd through Kerman's almond grovai 
And shaken from her bowers of date 

That cooling feast the traveller loves,* 
Now, luU'd tS langour, scarcely curl 

The Green Sea wave, whose waters gleam 
Limpid, as if her mines of pearl 

Were melted all to form the stream. 
And her fair islets, smaL and bright, 

With their green shores reflected there, 
Look hke those Peri isles of light. 

That hang by spell-work in the air. 
But vainly did those glories burst 
On Hinda's dazzled eyes, when tirst 
The bandage from her brow was taken, 
And pale and aw'd as those who waken 
In their dark tombs — when scowling near, 
The Searchers of the Grave t appear — 
She shuddering turn'd to read her fate 

In the fierce eyes that flash'd around ; 
And saw those towers, all desolate. 

That o'er her head terrific frown'd, 
As if defying e'en the smile 
Of that soft heaven to gild their pile. 



* " In pans of Kerman, whatever dales are shaken 
from the trees by the mna tVw?y do not touch, but leare 
them for those wh ' have not anj, or for travellers."- -• 
Elm. JHaukel. 

t The two terrible "iiigels, Monkir and Nakir ; who are 
called '* the Searcheis of the Grave" in the " Creed ol 
the orthodox Mahometan* ' given bj Ocklej, vol. ii. 



THE FlfiE-WORSHIP.ERS 201 

In vain, with mingled hope and fear, 
She looks for him whose voice so dear 
Had come like music to her ear — 
Strange, mocking dream ! again 'tis fled. 
And oh ! the shoots, the pangs of dread 
That through her inmost bosom run. 

When voices from without proclaim 
" Hafed, the Chief!" — and one by one, 

The warriors shout that fearful name . 
He comes — the rock resounds his tread- 
How shall she dare to hft her head. 
Or meet those eyes whose scorching glare 
Not Yemen's boldest sons can bear ? 
In whose red beam, the Moslem tells, 
Such rank and deadly lustre dwells, 
As in those hellish fires that light 
The mandrake's charnel leaves at night !* 
How shall she bear that voice's tone, 
At whose loud battle-cry alone 
Whole squadrons oft in panic ran. 
Scattered, like some vast caravan. 
When, stretch'd at evening round the well, 
They hear the thirsting tiger's yell ? 
Breathless she stands, with eyes cast down, 
Shrinking beneath the fiery frown. 
Which, fancy tells her, from that brow 
Is flashing o'er her fiercely now ; 



*" The Arabians call the mandrake • the Devil's etm 
die,' on account of its shinir | appearance in the nigLt.*' 
■itichnrdaor 



202 THE FIl i- WORSHIPPERS. 

And shuddering, as she hears the tread 

Of his retiring warrior band.— 
Never was pause so full of dread ; 

Till Hafed, with a trembling hand, 
Took hers, and, leaning o'er her, said, 
" HiNDA !" — that word was all he spoke. 
And 'twas enough — the shriek that broke 
From her full bosom told the rest — 
Panting with terror, joy, surprise, 
The maid but lifts her wondering eyes 

To hide them on her Gheber's breast ! 
'Tis he, 'tis he — the man of blood, 
The fellest of the fire-fiends brood, 
Hafed, the demon of the fight. 
Whose voice unnerves, whose glances blight- 
Is her own lov'd Gheber, mild 
And glorious as when first he smil'd 
In her lone tower, and left such beams 
Of his pure eye to light her dreams, 
That she believ'd her bower had given 
Rest to some wanderer from heaven ! 
Moments there are, and this was one, 
Snatch' d hke a minute's gleam of sun 
Amid the black Simoom's eclipse — 

Or like those verdant spots that bloom 
Around the crater's burning lips, 

Sweetening the very edge of doom ! 
The past — the future — all that Fate 
Can bring of dark or desperate 
Around such hours, but makes them caat 
Intenser radian^^e while they last ! 



THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 203 

E'ea he this youth — though dimm'd and gone 

Each star of Hope that cheer' d him on- 

His glories lost — his cause betray'd — 

Iran, his dear-lov'd country, made 

A land of carcasses and slaves, 

One dreary waste of chains and graves ! 

Himself but lingering, dead at heart. 

To see the last long-struggling breath 
Of Liberty's great soul depart. 

Then lay him down and share her death— 
E'en he, so sunk in wretchedness, 

With doom still darker gathering o'er hinij 
Y"et, in this moment's pure caress, 

In the mild eyes that shone before him, 
Beaming that blest assurance, worth 
All other transports known on earth, 
That he was lov'd — well, warmly lov'd — 
Oh ! in this precious hour he prov'd 
How deep, how thorough-felt the glow 
Of rapture, kindling out of wo ; — 
How exquisite one single drop 
Of bliss, thus sparkling to the top 
Of misery's cup — how keenly quaff'd, 
Though death must follow on the draught ! 
She too, while gazing on those eyes 

That sink into her soul so deep, 
Forgets all fears, all miseries. 

Or feels them hke the wretch in sleep, 
Whom Fancy cheats into a smile. 
Who dreams of joy, and sobs the while ! 
The mighty ruins where they stood, 



204 THI FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 

Upon the mount's high, rocky verge, 
Lay open tow'rds the ocean flood, 

VVhere hghtly o'er th' illumin'd surge 
Many a fair bark, that all the day. 
Had lurk'd in shehering creek or bay, 
Now bounded on and gave their sails, 
Yet dripping, to the evening gales ; 
Like eagles, when the storm is done, 
Spreading their wet wings in the sun. 
The beauteous clouds, though daylight's Stai 
Had sunk behind the hills of Lar, 
Were still with lingering glories bright- - 
As if to grace the gorgeous West. 

The spirit of departing Light 
That eve had left his sunny vest 

Behind him, ere he wing'd his flight. 
Never was scene so form'd for love ! 
Beneath them waves of crystal move 
In silent swell — heav'n glows above. 
And their pure hearts, to transport given, 
Swell hke the wave, and glow hke heav'n. 
But ah ! too soon that dream is past — 

Again, again her fear returns ; — 
Night, dreadful night is gathering fast. 

More faintly the horizon burns, 
And every rosy tint that lay 
On the smooth sea hath died away. 
Hastily to the darkening skies 
A glance she casts — then wildly cries 
"At night, he said — and, look 'tis near- 
Fly, fly — if yet thou lov'st me, fly — 



THE FIRE- WORSHIPPERS. 2> 

Soon will ais murderous band be here, 

And I shall see them bleed and die. — 
Hush ! — heard' St thou not the tramp of men 
Soundmg from yonder fearful glen ? — 
Perhaps e'en now they climb the wood — 

Fly, fly— though still the West is bright, 
He'll come — oh ! yes — he wants tl|y blood— 

I know him — he'll not wait for night !" 
In terrors, e'en to agony. 
She clings around the wandering Chief;— 
"Alas, poor wilder' d maid ! to me 

Thou ow'st this raving trance of grief. 
Lost as I am, nought ever grew 
Beneath my shade but perish' d too — 
My doom is like the Dead Sea air, 
And nothing lives that enters there ! 
Why were our barks together driven 
Beneath this morning's furious heaven f 
Why, when I saw the prize that chance 

Had thrown into my desperate arms — 
When casting but a single glance 

Upon thy pale and prostrate charms, 
I vow'd (though watching viewless o'er 

Thy safety through that hour's alarms) 
To meet the unmanning sight no more- 
Why have I broke that heart-wrung vow t 
Why weakly, madly met thee rww ? — 
Start not — that noise is but the shock 

Of torrents through yon valley hurl'd--' 
Dread nothing here upon this rock. 

We s>and above the jarring world, 



206 THE FIRE IVORSHIFPERS. 

Alike beyond its hope — its dread — 
In gloomy safety, like the Dead ! 
Or, could e'en earth and hell unite 
In league to storm this sacred height, 
Fear nothing thou — myself, to-night, 
And each o'erlooking star that dwells 
Near God, will be thy sentinels ; 
And, ere to-morrow's dawn shall glow, 

Back to thy sire" 

" To-morrow ! — no' 
The maiden screamed — " thou' It never see 
To-morrow's sun — death, death will be 
The night-cry through each reeking tower, 
Unless we fly, ay, fly this hour ! 
Thou art betray' d — some wretch who knew 
That dreadful glen's mysterious clew — 
Nay, doubt not — by yon stars 'tis true — 
Hath sold thee to my vengeful sire ; 
This morning, with that smile so dire 
He wears in joy, he told me all. 
And stamp' d in triumph through our hall 
As though thy heart already beat 
Its last life-throb beneath his feet! 
Good heav'n, how Uttle dream' d I then 

His victim was my own lov'd youth !— 
Fly — send — let some one watch the glen— 

By all my hopes of heaven 'tis truth !" 
O'l ! colder than the wind that freezes 

Founts, that but now in sunshine play'd, 
Is that congealing pang which siezes 

The trusting bosom when betray'd. 



THE FIRE-WORSR-.PFERS. 2 

He felt it — cleeply felt — and stcod, 
As if the tale had froz'n his blood, 

So amazed and motionless was he ; - 
Like one whom sudden spells enchant, 
Or some mute, marble habitant 

Of the still halls of Ishmonif '* 
But soon the painful chill was o'er, 
And his great soul, herself once more, 
Look'd irom his brow in all the rays ! 
Of her best, happiest, grandest days! 
Never, in moment most elate, 

Did that high spirit loftier rise ; — 
While bright, serene, determinate, 

His looks are hfted to the skies, 
As if the signal lights of Fate 

Were shining in those awful eyes ! 
Tis come— his hour of martyrdom 
In Iran's sacred cause is come : 
And though his life hath pass'd away 
Like lightning on a stormy day. 
Yet shall his death-hour leave a track 

Of glory, permanent and bright, 
To which the brave of aftertimes. 
The sufTerfng brave, shall long look back 

With proud regret — and by its light 

Watch through the hours of slavery's ni^ht 



♦For an account of Ishmonie, the petrified city in Up* 
per Egypt, where it is said there are many statues of 
men, women, etc.. to be seen to this day, see Perry^s Viem 
•ifLevrmi. 



208 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 

For vengeance on the oppressor's crimes * 
This rock his monument aloft, 

Shall speak the tale to many an age ; 
And hither bards and heroes oft 

Shall come in secret pilgrimage, 
And bring their warrior sons, and tell 
The wonde^-ing boys where Hafed fell, 
And swear them on those lone remains 
Of their lost country's ancient fanes, 
Never — while breath of life shall Uve 
Within them — never to forgive 
Th' accursed race whose ruthless chain 
Hath left on Iran's neck a stain, 
Blood, blood alone can cleanse again ' 
Such are the swelling thoughts that now 
Enthrone themselves on Hafed's brow: 
And ne'er did Saint of Issa* gaze 

On the re 1 wreath for martyrs twin'd. 
More proudly than the youth surveys 

That pile, which through the gloom behind 
Half lighted by the altar's fire. 
Glimmers — his destin'd funeral pyre ! 
Heap'd by his own, his comrades' hands, 

Ot every wood of odorous breath. 
There, by the Fire-god's shrine it stands, 

Ready to fold in radiant death 
The few still left of those who s\\ ore 
To perish there, when hope was o'er — 
The few, to whom that couch of flame, 

* Jesua. 



THE FIRE-Wv'iRSHIPPEl.S. 205 

Which rescues them from bonds an j shame. 

[s sweet and welcome as the bed 

For their own infant prophet spread, 

When pitying heaven to roses turn'd 

The death-flames that beneath him 1 urn'd!* 

With watchfulness the maid attends 

His rapid glance, where'er it bends — 

Why shoots his eyes such awful beams ? 

What plans he now ? what thinks or dreams f 

Alas! why stands he musing here, 

When every moment teems with fear ! 

"Hafed, my own beloved lord," 

She kneeling cries — "first, last adorM! 

If in that soul thou'st ever felt 

Half what thy Hps impassion'd swore, 
Here, on my knees, that never knelt 

To any but their God before, 
I pray thee, as thou lov'st me, fly — 
Now, now — eie yet their blades are nigh. 
Oh haste — the bark that bore me hither 

Can waft us o'er yon darkening sea 
East — west — alas, I care not wither. 

So thou art safe, and I with thee ! 
Go where we will, this hand is thine, 

Those eyes before me smiling thus. 
Through good and ill, through storm and shins, 

The world's a world of love for us ! 



• " The Gheberg, say that when Abraham, their great 
Prophet, was thrown into the fire h_T order ot" Nimrod, 
the flame turned inslantlj into a bed of roses, where th« 
child swecll} reposed.'^ •■Tavdmter. 
14 



210 THE FIRE-WORSHIPfERS. 

On some calm, blessed shore we'll dwell. 
Where 'tis no ciime to love too well ; 
Where thus to worship tenderly 
An erring child of light like thee 
Will not be sin — or, if it be, 
Where we may weep our faults away, 
Together kneeling, night and day, 
Thou, for my sake, at Alla's shrine, 
And I — at any God's for thine !" 
Wildly those passionate words she spoke — 
Then hung her head, and wept for shame, 
Sobbing, as if a heart-string broke 
With every deep-heav'd sob that came. 
While he, young, warm — oh ! wonder not 
[f, for a moment, pride and fame, 
His oath — his cause — that shrine of flame, 

And Iran's self are all forgot 
For her whom at his feet he sees, 
Kneeling in speechless agonies. 
No, blame him not, if Hope awhile 
Dawn'd in his soul, and threw her smile 
O'er hours to come — o'er days and nights 
Wing'd with those precious, pure delights 
Which she, who bends all beauteous there, 
Was born to kindle and to share ! 
A tear or two, which, as he bow'd 

To raise the suppliant, trembling stole, 
First warn'd him of this dangerous cloud 

Of softness passing o'er his soul. 
Starting he brush' d the drops away. 
Unworthy o'er that cheeH to stray ; 



THE FIRE-WORSIIiPPERS. 211 

Like one who, on the morn of fight, 
Shakes from nis sword the dews of night, 
That had but dimn'd, not slain'd its light. 
Yet, though subdued th' unnerving thrill, 
Its warmth, its weakness linger'd still 

So touching in each look and toae. 
That the fond, fearing, hoping maid 
Half counted on the flight she pray'd, 

Half thought the hero's soul was grown 

As soft, and yielding as her own ; 
And smil'd and bless'd him, while he said— 
" Yes — if there be some happier sphere, 
Where fadeless truth like ours is dear — 
If there be any land of rest 

For those who love and ne'er forget. 
Oh ! comfort thee — for safe and blest 

We'll meet in that calm region yet !'* 
Scarce had she time to ask her heart 
If good or ill these words impart, 
When the rous'd youth impatient flew 
To the lower-wall, where, high in view, 
A ponderous sea-horn* hung, and blew 
A signal, deep and dread as those 
The storm-fiend at his rising blows. — 
Full well his Chieftains, sworn nnd true 
Through life and death, that signal knew ; 
For 'twas ih' appointed warning-blast, 

♦ " The shell called Siianko?, common to India, Afri- 
ca, and the Mediterranean, and still used in many parti 
as a trunnpe*. for blowing alarms or giving signals: it sendi 
forth a deep and htUow aouri."-- Pennant 



212 THE riRE-rt'oRsniriEKs. 

Th' alarm to tell when hope \v'as past, 
And the tremendous death-die cast 1 
And there upon the mouldering tower, 
Hath hung this sea-horn many an hour, 
Ready to sound o'er land and sea 
That dirge note of the 1 rave and free. 
They came — his Chieftains at the call 
Jame slowly round, and with them all 
Alas, how few ! — the worn remains 
Of those who late o'er Kerman's plains 
Went gaily prancing to the clash 

Of Moorish zel and tynibalon, 
Catching new hope from every flash 

Of their long lances in the sun— - 
And, as their coursers charg'd the wind, 
And the wide ox-tails stream'd behind,* 
Looking, as if the steeds they rode 
Were wing'd, and every chief a god ! 

How fall'n, how alter' d'now 1 how wan 
Each scarr'd and faded vi&^age shone, 
As round the burning shrine they came ;— 

How deadly was the glare it cast, 
As mute they paus'd before the flame 

To light their torches as they pass'd ! 
'Twas silence all — the youth had plann'd 
The duties of his soldier-band ; 



♦ " The finest ornament for the horses is made of >ts 
large flying tassels of long vhile hair, taken out of th« 
tails of wild oxen. Ihat are tc be found in aorae place* of 
the Iwii'^ia.^^—Tkeverwt. 



THE FIRE- WCRSHIPPERS. 213 

And each determin'd brow declares 
His faithful Chief! aiiis well knew theirs. 
But minutes speed — night gems the skies— 
And oh how soon, ye blessed eyes, 
That look from heaven, ye may behold 
Sights that will turn your star-fires cold ! 
Breathless with awe, impatience, hope, 
The maiden sees the veteran group 
Her htter silently prepare, 

And lay it at her trembiing feet ;— 
And now the youth, with gentle care, 

Hath planed her in the sheltcr'd seat. 
And press'd her hand — that lingering press 

Of hands, that for the last time sever; 
Of hearts, whose pirlse of happiness, 

When that hold breaks, is dead for ever. 
And yet to her this sad caress 

Gives hope — so fondly hope can err! 
'-T was joy, she thought, joy's mute excess-- 

Their happy flight's dear harbinger ; 
Twas warmth — assurance — tenderness — 

'Twas any th-ng but leaving her. 
"Haste, haste! ' she cried, "the clouds grcM 

dark, 
But still, ere night, we'll reach the bark; 
And by the morrow's dawn — oh bliss ! 

With thee upon the sea-bright deep, 
Far off I'll but remember this, 

As some dark vanish'd dream of sleep ' 
And thou" lut ah I he answers not — 

Gojd heaven ' and does she go alone > 



814 THE F1RE--.V0RSHIPPERS,. 

She now hath reach'd that dismal spot, 

Where some hours s'.nce, his voice's toao 
Had come to soothe her fears and ills, 
Sweet as the Angel Israfil's,* 
When every leaf on Rden's tree 
Is trembling to his minsirelsy — 
Yet now — oh now, he is not nigh — 

"Hafed ! my Hafed ! — if it be 
Thy will, thy doom this night to die, 

Let me but stay to die with thee. 
And I will bless thy loved name, 
'Till the last life-breath leave this frame. 
Oh ! let our lips, our cheeks be laid 
But near each other while they fade ; 
Let us but mix our parting breaths, 
And I can die ten thousand deaths ! 
You too, who hurry me away 
So cruelly, one moment stay — 

Oh ! stay — one moment is not much ; 
lie yet may come — for him I pray — 
Hafed ! dear Hafed I" — All the way 

In wild lamentings, that would touch 
A heart of stone, she shriek'd his name 
To the dark woods — no Hafkd came: 
No — hapless pair — you've look'd your last ; 

Your hearts should both have broken then 
The dream is o'er — your dcom ia cast — 

You'll never meet on eaith again ! 



♦ " The angp] Israfil, who has ihe most inelodiouf \ 
•fall God's ne&\utea."---Sale. 



THE FIRE-WORSHIF.ERS. 21f 

Alas for him who hears her cries ! — 

Still half-way down the steep he stands, 
Watching with fix'd and feverish eyes 

The glimmer of those burning brands, 
That down the rocks with mournful ray, 
Light all he loves on earth away ! 
Hopeless as they who, far at sea, 

By the cold moon have just consign'd 
The corse of one, lov'd tenderly, 

To the bleak flood they leave behind , 
And on the deck still lingering stay, 
And long look back, with sad delay, 
To watch the moonlight on the wave, 
That ripples o'er that cheerless f;rava. 
But see — he starts — what hparj he thenf 
That dreadful shout ! — acrosrs the glen 
From the land side it cornr:?, and loud 
Rings through the chasn', as if the crowfl 
Of fearful things, that haunt that dell, 
Its Gholes and Dives and shapes of hell 
Had all in one dread hov/l broke out. 
So loud, so terrible that shout ! 

* ' They come — the Moslems come ! ' ' — he cite». 
His proud soul mounting to his ej''es — 
" Now spirits of the brave who roam 
Enfranchis'd through yon starry dome. 
Rejoice — for souls of kindred fire 
Are on the wing to join your choir!" 
He said — and, light as bridegrooms bound 

To their young loves, reclimb'd the steep 
And gain'd the shrine his chiefs stood round' •• 



216 THE FIRE-AVORSHIPPERS. 

Their swords as with instinctive leap, 
Togcether at that cry accurst, 
Had from their sheaths, hke sunbeams, buisL 
And hark ! again — agein— it rins;s ; 
Near and more near its echoings 
Peal through the chasm — oh ! who that then 
Had seen those listening warrior-men, 
With their swords grasp'd, their eyes of flame 
Turn'd on their Chief — could doubt the shame, 
Th' indignant shame with which they thrill 
To hear those shouts and yet stand still ? 
He read their thoughts — they were his own — 

"What I while our arms can wield these 
blades. 
Shall we die tamely ? die alone ? 

Without one victim to our shades, 
One Moslem heart where, buried deep. 
The sabre from its toil may sleep? 
No — God of Iran's burning skies! 
Thou scorn'st th' inglorious sacrifice 
No — though of all earth's hope bereft, 
Life, swords, and vengeance still are leh. 
We'll make yon valley's reeking cav3s 
Live in the awe-strack minds of men. 
Till tyrants shudder, when their slaves 

Tell of the Gheber's bloody glen 
Follow, brave hearts ! — this pile remains 
Our refuge still from life and chains ; 
But his the best, the holiest bed. 
Who sinks enfomb'd in Moslem dead!" 
Down the precipitous rocks they sprung, 



THE FIRE-W.KSHIPFF.RS. 217 

While vigor, more than human, strung 
Each arm and heart. — Th' exuhing foe 
Still through the dark defiles below, 
Track'd by his torches' lurid fire, 
Wound slow, as through GolcOxN'da's vale* 
The mighty serpent in his ire, 
Glides on v/ith glittering, deadly trail. 
No torch the Ghebers need — so well 
They know each mystery of the dell, 
So oft have, in their wanderings, 
Cross'd the wild race that round them dwell 
The very tigers from their delves 

Look out, and let them pass, as things 
Untam'd and fearless as themselves ! 
There was a deep ravine, that lay 
Yet darkUng in the Moslem's way;— 
Fit spot to make invaders rue 
The many fall'n before the few. 
The torrents from that morning's sky 
Had fill'd the narrow chasm breast-high; 
And, on each side, aloft and wild, 
Huge cliffs and tophng crags were pil'd, 
The guards, with which young Freedom Unea 
The pathway to her mountain shrines. 
Here at ths pass, the scanty band 
Of Iran's last avengers stand — 
Here wait, in silence like the dead, 
And Hsten for the Moslem's tread 
So anxiously, the carrion-bird 

* See Hoole upon the Story of Sjnbad 



218 THE FIRE-WORS.IIPPEB& 

Above them flaps Ins wmgs unheard ! 
They come — that plunge into the water 
Gives signal for the work of slaughter. 
iVow Ghebers, now — if ere your blades 

Had point or prowess, prove them now— • 
Wo to the file that foremost wades ! 

They come — a falchion greets each brow, 
And, as they tumble, trunk on trunk, 
Beneath the gory waters sunk. 
Still o'er their drowning bodies press 
New victims quick and numberless ; 
Till scarce an arm in Hafed's band, 

So fierce their toil, hath power to stir, 
But hstless from each crimson hand 

The sword hangs, clogg'd with massacre. 
Never was horde of tyrants met 
With bloodier welcome — never yet 
To patriot venaeance hath the sword 
More terrible libations piur'd! 
All up the dreary, long ravine, 
By the red, murky glimmer seen 
Of half-quench'd brands, that o'er the flood 
Lie scatfcr'd round and burn in blood, 
What .ruin glares I what carnage swims ! 
Heads, blazing turbans, quivering Umbs, 
Lost swords that, dropp'd from many a hand. 
In that thick pool of slaughter stand ; — 
Wretches who wading, half on fire 

From the toss'd brands that round them fly 
T\vixt flood and flame in shrieks expire : 

And some who, grasp'd by those who die. 



THE FIRE-WORSIIIPPtRS. 219 

Sink woundless with them, smother'd o'er 
In their dead brethren's gusfiing gore ! 
But vainly hundreds, thousands bleed, 
Still hundreds, thousands more succeed ;— 
Countless as tow'rds some flame at night 
The North's dark nisects wing their flight. 
And quench or perish in its light, 
To this terrific spot they pour — 
Till bridg'd with Moslem bodies o'er, 
It bears aloft their slippery tread, 
And o'er the dying and the dead, 
Tremendous causeway I on they pass. — 
Then, hapless Ghebers, then, alas ! 

What hope was left for you ? for you, 
Whose yet warm pile of sacrifice 
Is smoking in their vengeful eyes — 

Whose swords how keen, how fierce the| 
knew. 

And burn with shame to find how few. 
Crush'd down by that vast multitude, 
Some found their graves where first they stood* 
While some with hardier struggle died. 
And still fought on by Hafed's side, 
Who, fronting to the foe trod back 
Tow'rds the high towers his gory track ; 
And as a lion, swept away 

By sudden swell of Jordan's pride* 



♦'•In this thicl(et upon the banks of the Jordan, seve- 
ral sortg of wild beasts are wont to harl)or themselves, 
whose being .vaslied jut of the covert bj trie cverflowingi 



220 THE FlRE-WOKSHirPERS. 

From the wild covert where he lay, 

Long battles with the o'erwhehniiig tidfc, 
So fought he back with fierce delay, 
And kept both foes and fate at bay. 
But whithci now ? their track is lost, 

Their prey escap'd — guide, torches gone 
By torrent- beds and labyrinths crost. 

The scatter' d crowd rush blindly on — 
" Curse on those tardy lights that wind," 
They pantins cry, " so far behind — 
Oh for a bloodhound's precious scent, 
To track the way the Ghcber went !" 
Vain wish — confusedly along 
They rush more desperate as more wrong: 
Till, wilder d by the far off lights, 
Yet glitteruig up those gloomy heights. 
Their footm^, maz'd and lost, they miss, 
And down tne darkHng precipice 
Are dash'd .nto the deep abyss : 
Or midway hang, impal'd on rocks, 
A banquet, yet alive, for flocks 
Of ravenint' vultures — while the dell 
Re-echoes ""th each horrid yell, 
Those sounds — the last, to vengeance dear, 
That e,er shall ring in Haff.d's ear. 
Now reach hmi, as aloft, alone, 
Upon the sieep way breathless thrown, 

of the river, gp"* occHsinn to the athision of Jt^remiah, **kn 
thnll come up 'iice n I- on from the suelliv^ of JoT«U.-n.**" 
Hiaundn.ll s Ji.'^}po, 



THE FIUE' »VOR3HIPr£R3. 221 

9e lay beside his reeking blade, 

Resign'd, as if life's task were o'er, 
Its last blood-offering amply paid, 

And Iran's self could claim no mora 
One only thought, one lingering beam 
Now broke across his dizzy dream 
Of pain and weariness — 'twas she 

His heart's pure planet, shining yet 
Above the waste of memory. 

When all life's other lights were set. 
And never to his mind before 
Her image such enchantment wore. 
It seem'd as if each thought that stam'd, 

Each fear that chiU'd their loves was past, 
And not one cloud of earth i>emain'd 

Between him and her glory cast ; — 
As if to charms, before so bright. 

New grace from other worlds was given 
And his soul saw her by the hght 
Now breaking o'er itself from heaven! 
A voice spoke near him — 'twas the tone 
Of a loVd friend, the only one 
Of all his warriors left with life 
From that short night's tremendous strife.— 
"And must we then, my Chief, die here?— 
Foes round us, and the Shrine so near?'* 
These words have rous'd the last remains 

Of life within him — " what ! not yet 
Beyond the reach of Moslem chams?" — 

The thought could make e'en Death forget 
His icy bondage- -with a bound 



222 TJE FIRE-WORSHIPPER? 

He springs, all bleeding, from the ground, 
And grasps his comrade's arm, now grown 
E'en feebler, heavier than his own, 
And faintly up the pathway leads, 
Death gainir;g on each step he treads. 
Speed them, thou God, who heard'st their vows 
They mount — they bleed — oh save them now — 
The crags are red they've clamber'd o'er, 
The rock-weeds dripping with their gore — 
Thy blade loo, Hafed, false at length. 
Now breaks beneath thy tottering strength — 
Haste, haste — the voices of the foe 
Come near and nearer from below — 
One effort more — thank Heav'n ! tis past, 
They've gain'd the» topmost steep at last. 
And now they touch the temple's walls. 

Now Hafed sees the Fire divine — 
When, lo I — his weak, worn comrade falls 

Dead on the treshhold of the Shrine. 
" Alas, brave soul, too quickly fled ! 

And must I leave thee withering here, 
The sport ot every ruffian's tread, 

The mark for every coward spear ? 
No, by yon altar's sacred beams !" 
He cries, and with a strength that seems 
Not of this world, uplifts the frame 
Of the fall'n Chief, and tow'rds the riame 
Bears him along ; — with death-damp hand 

The corpse upon the pyre he lays. 
Then lights the consecrated brand. 

And fires the pile, whose sudden blaza. 



THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS, 223 

Like lightning bursts o'er Oman's Sea.— 

"Now, Freedom's God ! I come to Tiiee/' 
The youth exclaims, and with a smile 
Of tiiumph vauhing on the pite, 
In that last effort, ere the fires 
Have harm'd one glorious hmb, expiree. 
What shriek was that on Oman's tide? 

It came from yonder drifting bark. 
That just has caught upon her side 

The death -light — and again is dark. 
It is the boat — ah, why delay'd ? — 
That bears the wretched Moslem maid 
Confided to the watchful care 

Cf a small veteran band, with whom 
Their generous Chieftain would not share 

The secret of his final doom ; 
But hop'd when Hinda, safe and free, 

Was render'd to her father's eyes, 
Their pardon, full and prompt, would be 

The ransom of so dear a prize. 
Unconscious, thus, of Hafed's fate, 
And proud to guard their beauteous freight, 
Scarce had they clear' d the surfy waves 
That foam around those frightful caves, 
When the curst war-whoops, known so weH 
Come echoing from the distant dell — 
Sudden-each oai, upheld and still, 

Hung dripping o'er the vessel's sido 
A.nd, driving at the current's will. 

They rock'd along the whispering tide 
While every eye^ in mute dismay, 



224 THE FIRE-WORSHIPPEKS. 

Was tow'ard that fatal mountain turn'd. 
Where the dim ahar's quivering ray- 
As yet all lone and tranquil burn'd. 
Oh! 'tis not Hinda, in the power 

Of fancy's most terrific touch, 
To paint thy pangs in that dread hour — 

Thy silent agony — 'twas such 
As those who feel could paint too well, 
But none e'er felt and liv'd to tell ' 
'Twas not alone the dreary state 
Of a lone spirit, crush'd by fate, 
When, though no more remains to dread, 

The panic chill will not depart ; — 
When, though the inmate Hope be dead, 

Her ghost still haunts the mouldering least 
No — pleasures, hupes, affections gone. 
The wretch may bear, and yet Hve on, 
Like things within the cold rock found 
Alive, when all's congeal'd around. 
But there's blank repose in this, 
A calm stagnation that were bliss 
To the keen, burning, harrowing pain. 
Now felt through all thy breast and brain- 
That spasm, of terror, mute, intense, 
That breathless, agoniz'd suspense, 
From whose hot throb, whose deadly achmg 
The heart hath no relief but breaking ! 
Calm is the wave — heav'n's brilliant lights 

Reflected dance beneath the prow ;• 
Time was when, on such lovely nights, 

She who is there, so desolate now. 



TiIE FIRE-vVOKSHIPPERS. 22* 

Could sit all cheerful, though alone, 

And ask no happier joy than seeing 
That star-hght o'er the waters thrown — 
No joy but that to make her blest, 

And the fresh, buoyant sense of Bemg 
That bounds in youth's yet careless breast— 
Itself a star, not borrowing light, 
But in its own glad essence bright. 
How different now ! — but, hark, again 
The yell of havoc rings — brave men ! 
In vain with beating hearts, ye stand 
On the bark's edge — in vain each hand 
Half draws the falchion from its sheath ; 

All's o'er — in rust your blades may lie: 
He, at whose word they've scatter'd death, 

E'en now, this night, himself must die ! 
Well may ye look to yon dim tower, 

And ask, and wondering guess what meaM 
The battle-cry at this dead hour — 

Ah ! she could tell you — she, who leans 
Unheeded there, pale, sunk, aghast, 
With brow agamst the dew-cold mast — 

Too well she knows — her more than life. 
Her soul's first idol and its last, 

Lies bleeding in that murderous strife. 
But see — what moves upon the height ? 
Some signal ! — 'tis a torch's light. 

What bodes its solitary glare ? 
In gasping silence tow'rd the shrine 
All eyes are turn'd — thine, Hinda, thine 
15 



226 THE FIRE-WORSHIFPERS. 

Fix fh(;ir last failing-life beam there. 
'Twas but a moment — fierce and high 
The death-pile blaz'd into the sky, 
And far away o'er rock and flood 

Its melancholy radiance sent : 
While Hafed, like a vision, stood 
Reveal'd before the burning pyre, 
Tall, shadowy, hke a Spirit of Fire 

Shrin'd in its own grand element ! 
' 'Tis he !" — the shuddering maid exclaima— 

But, while she speaks, he's seen no more j 
High burst in air the funeral flames, 

And Iran's hopes and hers are o'er! 
One wild, heart-broken shriek she gave — 

Then sprung, as if to reach the blaze, 

Where still she fix'd her dying gaze, 
And, gazing, sunk into the wave — 
Deep, deep — where never care or pam 
Shall reach her innocent heart again ! 



Farewell — farewell to thee, Araby's daughter 
(Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea:' 

No pearl ever lay, under Oman's green water. 
More pure in its shell than thy spirit in thee 

Oh ! fair as the sea-flower close to thee growing 
How light was thy heart 'till Love's witcher' 
catue 



THE FinE-WOKSniFPERS. 227 

Like the wind of the south* o'er a summer lute 
blowing, 
And httsh'dall its music and wither'dits frame i 

But long, upon Akaby's green sunny highlands, 
Shall maids and their lovers remember the 
doom 
Of her, who lies sleeping among the Pearl 
Islands, 
With nought but the sea-start to light up her 
tomb. 

And still, when the merry date-season is burn- 
ing, 
And calls to the palm -groves the young and 
the old,t 
The happiest there, from their pastime returning, 
At sunset, will weep when thy story is told. 

The young village maid, when with flowers she 
dresses 



* " This wind (the Samoor) so soflens the strings of 
,ute8, that Ihfy cat. never be tuned wtiile it lasis."---. 
Stephen's Persia. 

t •♦ One of the greai.»sf curiosities found in the Persian 
Oulfisa fish which the Enghsh call Star-fish. It is cir- 
jular, and at night ver? luininaus, resembling the full 
moon surrounded by rajs ''••■Mirza Jlbu Tah^. 

iFor a description of the nierrimi^nt of the date-tim«, 
»f their wcric, their dances, end their return honne from 
the palm. groves at the end of autunnn with the fruita, se« 
Kempfer, .^tnaemtat, Er/)l. 



228 THE FIRE-WORSHIIPERS. 

Her dark flowing hair for some festivd day. 

Will think Df thy fate till, neglecting her tresses i 

She mournfully turns from the mirror away. 

Nor shall Iran, belov'd of her Hero! forge* 
thee — 
Though tyrants watch over her tears as they 
start. 
Close, close by th'^ side of that Hero she'll set 
thee, 
Embalm'd in the innermost shrine of her i 
Heart. , 

Farewell — be it ours to embellish thy pillow, 
With every thing beauteous that grows in the 
deep ; 
Each flower of the rock and each gem of the 
billow 
Shall sweeten thy bed and illumine thy sleep. . 

Around thee shall glisten the loveHest amber 
That ever the sorrowing sea-bird has wept ;* 

With many a shell,, in ,w;hose hollow-wreath'd 
chamber 
We, Peris of Ocqan, by ^^o,onlight have slept. 

We'll dive where the gardens of coral lie dark- 
ling, 



• Some naturalisls Have imagined that amber ia a con* 
eretion of the tears of birds.- --See Trevoux. Charnhtra 



LALLA ROOKH. ZZV 

And plant all the rosiest stems at thy head , 
<Ve'll seek where the sands of the Caspian* are 
sparkling, 
And gather their gold to strew over thy bed. 

Fafewell — farewell — until Pity's sweet fountain, 

Is lost in the hearts of the fair and the brave, 

They'll weep for the Chieftain who died on that 

mountain, 

They'll weep for the maiden who sleeps in 

this wave. 



The singular placidity with which Fadla- 
DEEN had listened, during the latter part of this 
obnoxious story, surprised the Princess and 
Feramorz exceedingly ; and even inclined to- 
wards him the hearts of these unsuspicious 
young persons, who Httle knew the source of a 
complacency so marvellous. The truth was, he 
had been organizing, for the last few days, a 
most notable plan of persecution against the poet, 
'.n consequence of some passages that had fallen 
from him on the second evening of recital, which 
appeared to this worthy Chamberlain to contain 
language and principles, for which nothing short 
of the summary criticism of the Chabuk* would 
be advisable. It was his intention, therefore, 

•"The bay of Kienelarke, which is otherwise callei! 
ihe Ooldon Baj, the sand whereof shines as fire."-- 
Sfruy. 

t " Th? app if a'io* of whips oriod3.".--Z>/6ot*. 



230 LALLA ROC/CH. 

immediately on their arrival at Cashmere, togiva i 
information to the King of Bucharia of the very ' 
dangerous sentiments of his ministrcl ; and, if, 
unfortunately, that monarch did not act with suit- 
able vigor on the occasion, (that is, if he did not 
give the Chabuk to Feramorz, and a place to 
Fadladeen,) there would be an end, he feared, 
of all legitimate government in Bucharia. He 
could not help, however, arguingbotter both for 
himself and the cause of potentates in general ; 
and it was the pleasure arising from these min- 
gled anticipations that diffused such unusual sa- 
tisfaction through his features, and made his eyes 
shine out, like poppies of the desert, over the 
wide and lifeless wilderness of that countenance. 
Having decided upon the Poet's chastisement 
in this manner, he thought it but humanity to 
spare him the minor tortures of criticism. Ac- 
cordingly, when they assembled next evening in 
the pavilion, and Lalla Rookii expected to see 
all the beauties of her bard melt away, one by 
one, in the acidity of criticism, like pearls in the 
cup of the Egyptian Queen — he agreeably dis- 
appointed her by merely saying, with an ironical 
smile, that the merits of such a poem deserved 
to be tried at a much higher tribunal ; and then 
suddenly passing off into a panegyric upon all 
Mussulman sovereigns, more particularly hia 
august and imperial master, Aurungzebe — the 
v\isest and best of the descendanty of Timur— ■ 
who, among ot.har crcat thuig-- he h^^d done fol 



AN ORIENTAL ROMANCE. 23 J 

mankind, had given to him, Fadladeln, the very 
profitable posts of Betel-carrier and Taster of 
Sherbets to the Emperor, Chief Holder of the 
Girdle of Beautiful Forms,* and Grand ,Nazir,. 
or Chamberlain of the Harem. 

They were now not far from that forbidden 
iiver,t beyond which no pure Hindoo can pass; 
and were reposing for a time in the rich valley 
of Hussun Abdaul, which had always been a 
favorite resting-place of the emperors in their 
annual migrations to Cashmere. Here often 
had the Light of the Faith, Jehanguire, wander- 
ed with his beloved and beautiful Nourmahal, 
and here would Lalla Rookh have been happy 
to remain for ever, giving up the throne of 
Bucharia and the world, for Feramorz and lore 
in this sweet lonely valley. The time was now 
fast ap-proaching when she must see hint no 
longer — or see him with eyes whose every look 
belonged to another ; and there was a melancholy 
preciousness in these last moments, which made 
her heart cling to them as it would to life. Du- 
ring the latter part of the journey, indeed, she 

* Kempfer rru-ntions such an officer atnong ibp attend- 
ants of the King of Persia, and calls him " formae ccr- 
jioriu estimator." His business was, at s;aleJ periods, to 
measure the ladies of the Harem by a son of regulation 
girdle, whose limits it was not thought graceful lo exceed. 
If any of them outgrew this standard of shape, they 
were reduced bj abstinence till thej rane within itf 
bounds. 

♦ The Atto«k, 



232 . LALLA. ROOKH. 

had sunk into a deep sadness, from which no- 
thing but the presence of the young minstrel could 
awake her. Like those lamps in tombs, which 
only light up when the air is admitted, it waa 
only at his approach that her eyes became smil«, 
ing and animated. But here, in this dear valley, 
every moment was an age of pleasure ; she saw 
him all day, and was, therefore, all day happy — 
resembling, she :)ften thought, that people ol 
Zinge, who attribute the unfading cheerfulness 
they enjoy to one genial star that rises nightly 
over their heads."* 

The whole party, indeed seemed in their live- 
liest mood during the few days they passed in this 
dehghtful solitude. The young attendants of the 
Princess, who were here allowedafreerrange than 
they could safely be indulged with in a less se- 
questered place, ran wild among the gardens, and 
bounded through the meadows, lightly as young 
roes over the aromatic plains of Tibet. While 
Fadladeen, beside the spiritual comfort he de- 
rived from a pilgrimage to the tomb of the Saint 
from whom the valley is named, had opportuni- 
ties of gratifying, in a small way, his taste for 
victims, by putting to death some hundreds of 
those unfortunate little lizards, which all pious 
Musselmans make it a point to kill ; — taking for 
granted, that the manner in which the creature 



* The star Soh6", or Canopus. 



A.N ORIENTAL ROMANCE. 233 

<iangs its head is meant as a mimicry of the at- 
titude ill which the Faithful say their prayers ! 

About two miles from Hussun Abdaul were 
those Royal Gardens, which had grown beatf- 
tiful under the care of so many lovely eyes, 
and were beautiful still, though those eyes 
could see them no longer. This place, with ita 
flowers and its holy silence, interrupted only by 
the dipping of the wings of birds in its marble 
basins filled with the pure water of those hills, 
was to Lalla Rookh all fhat her heart could 
fancy of fragrance, coolness, and almost heaven- 
ly tranquility. As the prophet said of Damas- 
cus, " it was too delicious ;" — and here in listen- 
ing to the sweet voice of Feramorz, or reading 
in his eyes what yet he never dared to tell her, 
the most exquisite moments of her whole life 
were passed. One evening when they had been 
talking of the Sultana Nourmahal — the Light of 
the Haram,* who had so often wandered among 
these flowers, and fed with her own hands, in 
those marble basins, the small shining fishes 
of which she was so fond — the youth, in order 
fo delay the momen' of separation, proposed to 
recite a short story, or rather rhapsody, of which 
<his adored Sultana was the heroine. It related, 
he said, to the reconcilement of a sort of lovers' 
l^uarrel, which took place between her and the 



Afterward? rallrd R' mrjehan, or the liglit of the World. 



234 THE LIG'IT : F THE HAREM. 

Emperor during a Feast of Roses at Cashmere 
and would remind the Princessof that differenct; 
between Ilaroun-al-Raschid and his fair mistrea 
Marida, which was so happily made up by th( 
Boft strains of the musician Moussali. As tho 
story was chiefly to be told in song, and Fera 
MORZ had unluckily forgotten his own lute in 
the valley, he borrowed the vina of Lalla 
Rookh's Httle Persian slave, and thus began : — 

THE LIGHT OF THE HA RAM. 

Who has not heard of the Vale of Cashmere, 
With its roses, the brightest that earth eveu 
gave,* 
Its temples and srrottos, and fountains as clear 
As the love-lighted eyes that hang over theii: 
wave? 

Oh ! to see it at sunset — when warm o'er the 
Lake 
Its splendor at parting a summer eve throwsJ 
Like a bride full of blushes, when lingering to< 
take 
A last look of her mir, or at night ere she 
goes ! — 
When the shrines through the foliage are gleam* 
ing half shown, 



♦ <' The rose of Kashmire, for its brilliancT and delica 
ev of color has l(ji\g been pnwarbial in the East."-...^r 



K THE LTGHT OF THE HAREM. 2i5 

A.na each hallows the hour by some riles of its 

own. 
Here the music of pray'r from a minaret swells, 
Here the magian his urn full of perfume is 

swinging, 
And here at the altar, a zone of sweet bells 
Round the waist of some fair Indian dancer is 

ringing.* 
Or to see it by moonlight — when mellowly 

shines 
The hght o'er its palaces, gardens and shrines; 
When the water-falls gleam like a quick fall of 

stars, 
And the nightingales hymn from the Isle of 

Chenars 
Is broken by laughs and wild echoes of feet 
From the cool, shining walks where the young 

people meet : — 
Or at morn when the magic of day-light awakes 
A new wonder each minute, as slowly it breaks, 
Hills, cupolas, fountains, call'd forth every one 
Out of daikness, as they were just born of the 

Sun. 
When the spirit of Fragrance is up with the 

day, 
From his Haram of night-flowers stealing away ; 
And the wind full of wantonness, woos. like a 

lover. 



*', Tied round her waist the xone of hells, that ■9uad* 
•d Willi ravishing mfslod>/."--Song of Jayadeva. 



?36 THE LIGHT OF THE HAREM. 

The young aspen-tiees* till they tremble all over 
When the East is as warm as the light of firsi 
hopes, 

And Day, with its banner of radiance unfurl'd. 
Shines in through the mountainoust portal that 
opes, 
Sublime, from that valley of bliss to the world 

But never yet, by night or day. 
In dew of spring or summer's ray. 
Did the sweet Valley shine so gay 
As now it shines — all love and light. 
Visions by day and feasts by night ! 
A happier smile illumes each brow, 

With quicker spread each heart uncloses, 
And all is ecstacy — for now 

The Valley holds its Feast of Roses.t 
That joyous time when pleasures pour 
Profusely round, and in their shower 
Hearts open, like the Season's Rose — 

The flowret of a hundred leaves,1> 
Expanding while the dew-fall flows, 



♦ " The Utile Isles in the 1/ake of Cacliemire are 
with arbors and large-leaved aspen-trees, slender t 
iM."-'-Bemier. 

t '• The Tuckl Siiliman, ihp nanr?-? bestowed by Ihei 
Mahometans on this hill, fonns one side of a grand por- 
tal to the Lake."— Tiorsrcr 

f "The Feast of Roses conlitnes the whole time of 
their remaining in bloom. "---See Pietrodela VaJ.le. 

^ " Gul sad berk, the Rose of a" hundred leaves, I be-' 
lievea particular species. "---OtMiei'^ 



THE LIG AT OF THi; HAREM. Z37 

And every leaf its balm receives ! 
'Tvi'as when the hour of evening came 

Upon the Lake, serene and cool, 
When Day had hid its sultry flame 

Behind the palms of Baramoule.* 
When maids began to lift their heads, 
Refresh'd from their embroid'd beds. 
Where they had slept the sun away, 
And wak'd to moonlight and to play. 
All were abroad — the busiest hive 
On BELA'st h.lls is less ahve 
When saffron beds are full in flower, 
Than looked the Valley at that hour. 
A thousand restloss torches play'd 
Through every grove and island shade ; 
A thousand sparkling lamps were set 
On every dome and minaret ; 
And fields and pathways, far and near, 
Were lighted by a blaxe so clear. 
That you could see, in wandering around, 
The smallest rose-leaf on the ground. 
Yet did the maids and matrons leave 
Their veils at home, that brilliant eve ; 
And there were glancing eyes about, 
And cheeks that would not dare shine cut 
In open day, but thought they might 
Look lovely then, because 'twas night ! 

* Bernier, 

t A place mentioned in the Toozek Jehangeery, CM 
Memoirs of Jehanguire, where there is an account ot tht 
^ed» of saffron flowers about Cashmere 



238 THE i.IGHT OF IHE HAREM. 

And all were free, and wandering, 

And all exclaim'd to all they met, 
That never did the summer bring 
So gay a Feast of Roses yet ; — 
The moon had never shed a light 

So -clear as that which bless''d them there; 
The roses ne'er shone half so bright, 

Nor they themselves look'd half so fair. 
And what a wilderness of flowers 1 
It seem'd as though from all the bowers 
And fairest fields of all the year. 
The mingled spoil were scattcr'd here. 
The Lake, too, like a garden breathes, 
With the rich buds that o'er it lie — 
As if a shower of fairy wreaths 
Had fall'n upon it from the sky ! 
And then the sounds of joy — the beat 
Of tabors and of dancing feet : 
The minaret-cryer's chant of glee 
Sung from his hghted gallery,* 
And answerM by a ziraleet 
From neighboring Harem, wild and sweet ; 
The merry laughter echoing 
From gardens, where the silken swing 
Wafts some delighted girl above 
The top leaves of the orange grove ; 

♦"If 19 tbp cuslom amori^ the womf>n to employ th< 
Maareen 1o chant from the gRlIerv of Ihe nearest mina 
ret, which on that occasion is illuminatecl, and thewomei 
asaembted at the houfe respond at intervals with a zir*' 
'eet or jo "ous chorus. "••-/?its»e//. 



THE LIGIM OF THE HAKAM. 835 

Or, from those infant groups at play 
Among the tents* that line the way, 
Flinging, unaw'd by slave or mother, 
Handfuls of roses at each other ! — 

And the sounds from the Lake — the low whisp'* 

ring boats, 
As they shoot through the moonlight; — the 

dipping of oars, 
And the wild, airy warbling that every where 

floats. 
Through the groves, round the islands, as if 

all the shores, 
Like those of Kathay, utter'd music, and gave 
An answer in song to the kiss of each wave !t 
But the gentlest of all are those sounds, full of 

feehng. 
That soft from the lute ofsome lover are stealing — 
Some lover who knows all the heart-touching 

power 
Of a lute and a sigh in this magical hour. 
Oh ! best of delights as it every where is, 



* " At the keeping of the Feast of Roses we beheH an 
Infinite numl)er of lenls pitched, with siwh a crowd of 
men, women, and hoys and girls, with music, dances," etc, 
etc •••Herbert. 

t" An old commentator of the Chou-King says, the 
ancients having remarlced that a current of water made 
■ome of t^»e stones near iis banks send forth a sound, 
they deta'ched some of them, and beir.e charmed with th« 
delightful Bound they emitted, const acted King or musi- 
wl inatruments of ihem." ••■Groaief 



240 THE LIGHT OF THE HA.RAM. 

To be near the lov'd Owe — what a raptjreis his 
Who in naoonlight and music thus sweetly niaj 

glide 
O'er the Lake of Cashmere, with that One bj 

his side ! 
If women can make the worst wilderness dear, 
Think, think what a heav'n she must make O' 

Cashmere ! 

So felt the magnificent son of Acbar,* 

When from power and pomp, and the trophioi 

of war, 
He flew to that Valley, forgetting them all 
With the Light of the Haram, his young NouR^ 

MAHAL. 

When free and uncrown' d as the Conqueror rov'd 
By the banks of that Lake, with his only belov'd, 
He saw, in the wreaths she would playfully 

snatch 
From the hedges, a glory his crown could not 

match. 
And preferr'd m his heart the least ringlet thatt' 

curl'd 
Down her exquisite neck to the throne of the< 

world ! 

There's a beauty, for ever unchangingly bright 

Iiike the long, sunny lapse of a summer-day'* 

light, 

♦ Jehangu-re was Uie son of the Great Arbar. 



THE LIGHT OF THE HAKAA. 24l 

Shining on, shining on, by no shadow m&Je ten 

der, 
Till love falls asleep in its sameness of splendor. 
This was not the beauty — oh ! nothing like this, 
That to young Noitrmahal gave such magic oi 

bliss ; 
But that loveliness, ever in motion, which plays 
Like the light upon Autumn'ssoft shadowy days, 
Now here, and now there, giving warmth as it 

flies. 
From the lips to the cheek, from the cheeks to 

the eyes, 
Now melting in mist and now breaking in 

gleams, 
Like the gHmpses a saint hath of heav'n in his 

dreams ! 
When pensive it seem'd as if that very grace, 
That charm of all others was born with her face ; 
And when angry — for e'en in the tranquillest 

climes 
Light breezes vnW ruffle the blossoms some 

times — • 
That short passing anger but seem'd to awaken 
New beauty, hke flowers that are sweetest when 

shaken. 
If tenderness touch' d her, the dark of her eye 
At once took a darker, a heavenher dye, 
From the depth of whose shadow, like holy re- 

vealings 
From innermost shrines, came the light of iaei 

feelings ! 

16 



§42 THE LIGHT OF THE HAJRA.A1. 

Then her mirth — oh ! 'twas sportive as ever took] 
wing 

From the heart with a burst, hke a wild-bird in| 
Spring : 

nium'd by a wit that would fascinate sages, 

Yet playful as Peris just loos'd from their cages,* 

While her laugh, full of life, without any con- 
trol 

But the sweet one of gracefulness, rung fomher 
soul ; 

And where it most sparkled no glance could dis- 
cover, 

In hp, cheek, or eyes, for she brighten'd ali 
over — 

Like any fair lake that the breeze is upon, 

When it breaks into dimples and laughs in the sun.i 

Such, such were the peerless enchantments tha- 
gave 

NouRMAHAL the proud Lord of the East, for her 
slave ; 

And though bright was his Haram — a Uvingj 
parterre 

Of theflowcrstof this planet — though treasures; 
were there 



*"In the wars of the Divea wiih the Peria, whenever 
the former took ihe latter prisoners they shut them up in 
iron cages, and hung them on the highest trees Here 
they were visi'ed by their compmions, who brought Ihena 
the (shoicesi odom.'." . ■ .JRiAnrdson. 

+ In the Malaj languagj the same word signifies wo mea 
■nd florers. 



THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM. 243 

For which Soliman's self might have given ali 

the store 
That the navy from Ophir e'er v-ingM to hi§ 

shore, 
Yet dim before her were the smiles of them all, 
And the Light of his Haram was young Nora 

MAHAL ! 

But where is she now, this night of joy, 

When bliss is every heart's employ ? — 

When all around her is so bright, 

So Hke the visions of a trance, 

That one might think, who came by chance 

Into the vale this happy night, 

He saw the City of Dehght* 

In fairy-land, whose streets and towers 

Are made of gems, and light, and flowers ! 

Where is the lov'd Sultana? where. 

When mirth brings out the young and fair, 

Does she, the fairest, hide her brow, 

In melancholy stillness now ? 

Alas — how light a cause may move 

Dissensions between hearts that love ! 

Hearts that the world in vain had tried ; 

And sorrow but more closely tied ; 

That stood the storm, when waves were rougbi 

Yet in a sunny hour fall off, 

Like ships that have gone down at sea, 

♦ Th? capita' of Shadukiaii. 



244 THE LIGHl -F THE HARAM. 

When heav'n was all tranquillity ! 
A something, light as air — a look, 

A word unkind, or wrongly taken 
Oh ! love, that tempests never shook, " 

A breath, a touch like this hath shaken 
And ruder words will soon rush m 
To spread the breach that words begin : 
And eyes forget the gentle ray 
They wore in courtship's smiling day ; 
And voices lose the tone that shed 
A tenderness round all they said ; 
Till fast declining, one by one, 
The sweetnesses of love are gone, 
And hearts, so lately mingled, seem 
Like broken clouds — or hke the stream, 
That smiling left the mountain's brow, 

As though its waters ne'er could sever. 
Yet, ere it reach the plain below, 

Breaks uito floods, that part for ever. 

Oh you, that have the charge of Love, 

Keep him in rosy bondage hound, 
As in the Fields of Bliss above, 

lie sits, with flowrets fetter' d round ;* 
liOose not a tie that round him clings, 
Nor ever let him use his wings : 
For ev'n an hour, a minute's flight, 
Will rob the plumes of half their light. 

* See the representation o''the EHslern Cupid pinionei 
closely rtmnd w th wreaths ol flowers, in I'icart't Ceremo 
nies Reiigieiises. 



f 



THE LI tHT OF THE Ha.^AM. 245 



Like that celestial bird — \\hose nest 

Is found beneath far Eastern skies — 
Whose wings, though radiant when at I'esi, 

Loose all their glory when he flies !* 
Some difference, of this dangerous kind — 
By which, though light the links that bind 
The fondest hearts may soon be riven ; 
Some shadow in love's summer heaven, 
Which, though a fleecy speck at first, 
May yet in awful thunder burst ; 
Such cloud it is, that now hangs over 
The heart of the Imperial Lover, 
And far hath banish' d from his sight 
His NouR.MAHAL, his Haram's Light! 
Hence is it, on this happy night, 
When Pleasure through the fields and groves 
Has let loose all her world of loves, 
And every heart has found its own — 
He wanders, joyless and alone. 
And weary as that bird of Thrace, 
Whose pinion knows no resting-place.t 
In vain the loveliest cheeks and eyes 
This Eden of the earth supplies 
Come crowding round — the cheeks are pale, 

* "AiTi'jng the birds of Ton ]u in is a species of goldfinch, 
^hich dngs so melodiously ti at it is called the Celestial 
Bird. Its wings, when it is perched, appear variegated 
»ith beautiful colours, but when it flies Iney lose all their 
iplendor. " • • • Crosier. 

•f '* As these tiirds on the Bosphorua are never known 
io rest, they arti called by the French' lesamea danriQees." 



846 THE LIGHT OF THE HAREM. 

The eyes are dim — though rich thesf^'* 
With every jBower this earth has got, 

What is it to the nightingale, 
If there his darhng rose is not ?* 
In vain the Valley's smiling thron^ 
Worship him as he moves along ; 
He heeds them not — one smile of h^ra 
Is worth a world of worshippers ; 
They but the Siar's adorers are, 
She is the Heav'n that lights the Star * 

Hence is it too, that Nourmahal, 
Amid the luxuries of this hour. 
Far from the joyous festival, 

Sits in her own sequester'd bower. 
With no one near, to sooth or aid, 
But that inspir'd and wond'rous maid, 
Namouna, the Enchantress ; — one, 
O'er whom his race the golden sun 
For unremember'd years has run, 
Yet never saw her blooming brow 
Younger or fairer than 'tis now. 
Nay, rather, as the west wind's sigh 
Freshens the flower it passes by. 
Time's wing but seem'd, in stealing c'ei 
To leave her lovelier than before. 
Yet on her smiles a sadness hung. 



t " You maj place a hunlred handfals of fra^raa 
herbi and floweis '/elV v the nightingale, yet he wishes not 
in bis c nat-int lieHi't /or ni" 'e than the sweet hrealh ofhh 



THE LIGHT UF THE HAI EM. 247 

\na whe I, as oft, she spoke orsuiiff 
Of ether worlds, there caine a hi{ht 
From her dark eyes so strangely bright, 
That all believ'd nor man nor eartti 
Were conscious of Namouna's birth ! 
All spells and talismans she knew. 

From the great Mantra,* which around 
The Air's sublimer spirits drew, 

To the gold genist ot Afric, bound 
Upon the wandering Arabs arm, 
To keep him from the Siltim'st harm. 
And she had pledg'd her powerful art, 
Pledg'd it with all the zeal and heart 
Of one who knew, though high her sphere. 
What 'twas to lose a love so dear. 
To find some spell that should recall 
Her Selim's^ smile to Nourmahai. 1 

'Twas midnight — through the lattice, wreath'd 
With woodbine, many a perfume breath' d 
From plants that wake when others sleep, 
From timid jasmine buds, that keep 

* " He is said to have found the great Mantra, spell oi 
talisman, ihrotigh which he ruled over ihe elements and 
Bpirils of all denominations. "-•• Wilford. 

t '< The go! ) jewels of Jinnie, whifh are called bj the 
Arabs El Herrez, from ihe supposed charm thej contain." 
• • -Jackson 

X "A demon, supposed to haunt woods, &c. in a human 
shape "•— Richard sor,.. 

^ ■* The name of Jehanguir*; before his accession to th« 
throne 



848 THE ^IGHT OF THE HAREK. 

Their od.)r to themselves all day, 

But, when ihe sun-light dies away 

Let the delicious secret out 

To every broc :e that roams about ; 

When thus Namouna : — " 'Tis the hour 

That scatters spells on herb and flower, 

And garlands might be gather' d now, 

That, twin'd around the sleeper's brow, 

Would make him dream of such delights, 

Such miracles and dazzling sights, 

As Genii of the Sun behold, 

At evening from their tents of gold 

Upon the horizon — where they play 

Till twilight comes, and, ray by ray. 

Their sunny mansions melt away ! 

Now, too, a chaplet might be wreath'd 

Of buds o'er which the moon has breathed, 

Which worn by her, whose love has stray' d, 

Might bring some Peri from the skies, 
Some sprite, whose very soul is made 

Of flowrets' breaths, and lovers' sighs, 

And who might tell" 

" For me, for me,* 
Cried Nourmahal impatiently — 
*' Oh ! twine that wreath for me to-night.'* 
Then rapidly with foot as light 
As the young musk-roe's, cut she flew 
To cull each shining leaf that grew 
Beneath the moonlight's hallowing beams 
For this enchanted Wreath of Dreams. 



THE LIGHT OF TH£ HAREM. 249 

A.'nemones and Seas of jrold.* 

And new blown lilies of the river, 
A-Tid those sweet flowrets, that unfold 

Their buds on Camedeva's quiver ;t 
The tube-rose, with her silvery light, 

That in the Gardens of Malay 
Is call'd the Mistress of the Night, + 
So like a bride, scented and bright, 

She comes out when the sun's away. 
Amaranths, such as crown the maids 
That wander through Zamara's shades ;^ 
And the white moon-flower, as it shows 
On Zerendib's high crags to those 
Who near the isle at evening sail, 
Scenting her clove trees in the gale ; — 
In short, all flowrets and all plants. 



♦" Hemasagare, or the Sea of Gold, with flowers of tha 
briehtest gold co'or "---iSir W. Jones. 

t " This tree (the Nagacessara) is one of the most de- 
lightful on eailh, and the delicious odor of its hloseoms 
justlv gives theiti a filace in the quiver or Camadeva, or 
the God •f Love. "•-•76. 

t»' The Malayans sijle theiune-rose (Poliantlies tube- 
rosa) Sandal Malam, or the Mistress of the Night."-- 
Pennant. 

^ The people of the Batta country in Sumatra (ol 
which Zamara is one of ihe ancient names) •« when not 
engaged in war, lewd an idle, inaciive life, passing the day 
ji playing on a kind of flute, crowned with garlands of 
flowerB, amcng «hich the globe-amaranlhus, a native o/ 
the coiintrj , mostly prevails "•••Marsden. 



250 THE LIGHT OF THE HAKEM, 

From the divine Amrita tree,* 
That blesses heaven's inhabitants 

With fruits of immortality, 
Down to the basilt tuft, that waves 
Its fragrant blossom over graves, 
And to the humble rosemary, 
Whose sweets so thanklessly are shed 
To scent the desert t — and the dead — 
All in that garden bloom, and all 
Are gather'd by young Noukmahai., 
Who heaps her baskets with the flowers 

And leaves, till they can hold no more, j 

Then to Namouna flies, and showers 

Upon her lap the shining store. 

With what delight th' Enchantress views 

So many buds, bath'd with the dews 

And beams of that bless'd hour I — her glance 

Spoke something, past all mortal pleasures, 
As, in a kind of holy trance, 

She hung above those fragrant treasures, 
Bending to drink their balmy airs. 
As if she mix'd her soul with theirs. 
And 'twas, indeed, the perfume shed 

♦ " The largest and richest sort (of the .lambu or ro?e- 
apple) is called Amri'a or imniorlal, and the inyfhologis;* 
of Tibet apply iNe same 'word to a celestial tree, bearin| 
ambrosial fruit. "•• Sir W. Jones. 

t Sweet-basil, called Rayhan in Persia, and generollj 
found in church -yards. 

I " Tn the Gieat Desert are found muny stalks of la 
vevier and rosemary."- -Jlsiat Hes. 



THE LIGHT OF THi IIARAM. 25J 

From flow'rs and scented flame that fed 
Her charmed liic — lor none had e'er 
Beheld her taste of mortal fare, 
Nor ever in aught eartiily dip, 
But the morn's dew, her roseate lip. 
Fill'd with the cool, inspiring smell, 
Th' Enchantress now begins her spell, 
Thus singing as she winds and weaves 
In mystic form the glittermg leaves :— 



I know where the winged visions dwell 

That round the night-bed play ; 
I know each herb and flowret's bell, 
Where they hide their wings by day. 
Then hasten we, maid. 
To twine our braid, 
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade* 

The image of love, that nightly flies 

To visit the bashful maid. 
Steals from the jasmine flower, that sighs 

Its soul, like her, in the shade. 
The hope, in dreams, of a happier hour 

That alights on misery's brow. 
Springs out of the silvery almond-flower, 
That blooms on a leafless bough,* 



♦" The Almond-lree, with white flowers, bloMomi ct 
the bare brauches."- Haaselgui^t. 



252 THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM. 

Then hasten we, maid, 
To twine our braid, 
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fadei 

The visions that oft to worldly eyes 

The glitter of mines unfold. 
Inhabit the mountain herb,* that dyes 

The tooth of the fawn like gold. 
The phantom shapes — oh touch not them — 

That appal the murderer's sight, 
Lurk in the fleshy mandrake's stem, 

That shrieks, when torn at night ! 
Then hasten we, maid, 
To twine our braid, 
Fo-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade. 

The dream of the injured patient mind 

That smiles at the wrongs of men, 
Is found in the bruis'd and wounded rind 
Of the cinnamon, sweetest then ! 
Then hasten we, maid, 
To twine our braid. 
To morrow the dreams and flowers will fade. 

No sooner was the flowery crown 

Plac'd on her head, than sleep came down, 

Gently as nights of summer fall 



* An herb or. Mount Libanua, which i'^ said to commu- 
nicate a yellow ^olJen hue to ihe eeth of the goals and 
rther animals that j»raze upon it. 



THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM. 253 

Upon the lids of Nourmahal, 
And, suddenly, a tuneful breeze, 
As full of small, rich harmonies 
As ever wind, that o'er the tents 
Of AzAB* blew, was full of scents. 
Steals on her ear and floats and swell.si, 

Like the first air of morning creeping 
Into those wreathy Red-Sea shells. 

Where Love himself, of old, lay sleeping; N* 
And now a spirit form'd 'twould seem, 

Of music and of light, so fair. 
So brilliantly his features beam. 

And such a sound is in the air 
Of sweetness, when he waves his wings 
Hovers around her, and thus sings : — 



From Chindara's} warbhng fount I come, 
Call'd by that moonhght garland's spell ; 

From Chindara's fount, my fairy home, 
Where in music, morn and night, I dwell , 

Where lutes in the air are heard about. 
And voices are singing the whole day long, 



♦ The Myrrh country. 

f •• This idea (of deities living in shells) was not un- 
known to the Greeks, who represent (he young Nerites, 
one of the Cupids, as living in shells on the shores of th« 
Red-Sea."-- ■Wiljbrd. 

I " A fabulous fountain, where instrument? are eaid t« 
be oonstamly playing "--Jiichardson 



254 THE MGHT OF THE HAKAW. 

And every sigh the heart breathes out 
Is turn'd, as it leaves the Hps, to song ! 

Hither I come 

From my fairy home, 
And if there's a magic in Music's strain. 

I swear by the breath 

Of that moonlight wreath, 
Thy lover shall sigh at thy feet again. 

For mine is the lay that lightly floats, 

And mine are murmuring, dying notes, 

That fall as soft as snow on the sea, 

And melt in the heart as instantly ! 

And the passionate strain that, deeply going, 

Refines the bosom it trembles through, 
As the musk-wind, over the water blowing 

Ruffles the wave, but sweetens it too ! 

Mine is the charm, whose mystic sway 

The Spirits of past Delight obey ; 

Let but the tuneful talisman sound. 

And they come, like Genii, hovering round. 

And mine is the gentle song, that bears 

From soul to soul, the wishes of love. 
As a bird, that wafts through genial airs 

The cinnamon seed from grove to grove.* 



* •' Tlie Pompadour pis^eon is the sppcies, which, by 
tarrying the fruit of ttie cinnamon to different places, it 
a ereat dissmnnalor ot' this valuable tree. "-••See BrowsCi 
lilustr. Tab, 19. 



■ THE LIGHT OF THE HARAlVl. 253 

Tis I that mingle in one sweet measure 
The past, the present, and future of pleasure ; 
When Memory links the tone that is gone 

With the bhssful tone that's still in the ear , 
And Hope from a heavenly note flies on, 

To a note more heavenly still that is near I 

The warr.or's heart, when touch'd by me, 
Can as downy soft and as yielding be, 
As his own white plume, that high amid death 
Through the field has shone — yet moves with a 

breath. 
And, oh, how the eyes of beauty glisten, 

When music has reach' d her inward soul, 
Like th' silent stars, that wink and listen 
While heav'n's eternal melodies roll ! 
So, hither I come, 
From my fairy home. 
And if there's a magic in Music's strain, 
I swear by the breath 
Of that moonlight wreath. 
Thy lover shall sigh at thy feet again. 



'Tis dawn — at least that earlier dawn. 
Whose glimpses are again withdrawn,* 
As if the morn had wak'd, and then, 
Shut close her lids of light again. 



• "They have two Tnominga, the Soobhi Kazim, ai 
Ihe Soobhi Sadi^, Oie false and the real daj-break".< 
Waring. 



^6 THE LIGHT OF THE HARAM. 

And NouRMAHAL is up, and trying 

The wonders of her hite, whose string*— 
Oh bHss ! — now murmur Uke the sighing 

From that ambrosial Spirit's wings ! 
And then her voice — 'tis more than human— 
Never till now, had it been given 
To lips of any mortal woman 

To utter notes so fresh from heaven ; 
Sweet as the breath of angel sighs, 

When angel sighs are most divine. — 
* Oh ! let it last till night," she cries, 

" And he is more than ever mme." 
And hourly she renews the lay, 

So fearful lest its heavenly sweetness 
Should, ere the evening fade away — 

For things so heavenly have such fleetneap 
But, far from fading, it but grows 
Richer, diviner as it flows ; 
Till rapt she dwells on every string. 

And pours again each sound along. 
Like echo, lost and languishing 

In love with her own wondrous song. 
That evening, (trusting that his soul 

Might be from haunting love releas'd 
By mirth by music, and the bowl) 
Th' Imperial Selim held a Feast 
In his magnificent Shalimar, 
In whose Saloons, when the first star 
Of evening o'er the waters trembled, 
The Valley's loveliest all assembled , 
A.11 the brjirht creatures that like dream*, 



THE LIGHT OF THE HA.REM, 257 

Glide through its foliage, and drink beams 
Of beauty from its founts and streams,* 
And all those wandering minstrel maids, 
Who leave — how can they leave ? — the shades 
Of that dear valley and are found 

Singing in gardens of the Southt 
Those songs, that ne'er so sweetly sound 

As from a young Cashmerian's rnouth; 
There too the Haram's inmates sm.ile : 

Maids from the West, with sun-brighr hair, 
And from the Garden of the Nile, 

Delicate as the roses there ;\ 
Daughters of Love from Cyprus' rocks, 
With Paphian diamonds in their locks ;% 
Light Peri forms, such as there are 
On the gold meads of Candahar ;II 

♦ " The waters of Cachemir are the moat renowned 
from its being supposed that the Caohemirians are in- 
flebted for their beauty to them." — flH Yezdi. 

t'' from him I received tlie following Mttle Gazzel, oi 
r,ove Song, the notes of which he commiited to papef 
from the voice of one of those singing giils of Cachmere, 
who wander from that delightful valley over the various 
pans of India. "••- Persian Miscellanies. 

t " The ros'^8 ofihe Jinan Nile, or Garden of the Nile, 
(atVflched to the Emperor of Morocco's palace) are un- 
equalled, and matresses are made of Iheir leaves for men 
of rank to recline upon •-•Jackson. 

(i " On the side of a mounia-in near Paphos there is a 
cavern which produces the most beautiful rock crystal. 
On account of its brilliancy it has been called the Paphain 
diamond. "---TJ/ortrt. 

*i'« There is part of Candahar, called Peria or Fniry 
I.and."---7V'€j;CTior. In some of those couatties to th« 

17 



258 THE LIGHT OF THE HAREM. 

And they, before whose sleepy eyes. 

In their own bright Kathaian bowers, 
Sparkle such rainbow butterflies,* 

That they might fancy the rich flowerSv 
That round them in the sun lay sighing, 
JIad been by magic all set flying ! 

Every thing young, every thing fair, 
From East and West is blushing there, 
Except — except — oh Nourmahal ! 
Thou loveliest, dearest of them all, 
The one, whose smile shone out alone, 
Amidst a world the only one I 
Whose light, among so many lights, 
Was like that star, on starry nights, 
The seaman singles from the sky, 
To steer his bark for ever by ! 
Thou wert not there — so Selim thought, 

And every thing seem'd drear without thee 
But ah ! thou wert, thou wert — and brought 
Thy charm of song all fresh about thee. 
Mingling unnoticed with a band 
Of lutanisfs from many a land, 
And veii'd by such a mask as shades 
The features of yong Arab maidst— 



North of India, ;getable gold is supposed to oe pi« 
duc'd. 

• " Thf-sp are the btiHerflies which a'e caliH-J !!\ tl' 
Chinese Iringnage Flying fiHe^es. Some of tli^m have sue 
Knining colors, and are so vari'^galed, that they maj t 
called thing flowers; and indeed ihey are always produce 
In the finest flower-garden?. "••.Z?unn. 

t " The Arajjian womefl weai black masks with lUtl 



THE LIGHT OF THi, HARAM 258 

A. mask that leaves but one eye free, 

To do its best in witchery — 

She rov'd, with beating heart, around, 

And waited trembhng tor the minute, 
When she iBight try if still the sound 
Of her lov'd lute had magic in it. 
'i'he board was spread with fruits and wine ; 
With grapes of gold hke those that shine 
On Casein's hills ;*— pomegranates full 

Of melting sweetness, and the pears 
And sunniest apples that CAUBULt 

In all its thousand gardensi bears. 
Plaintains, the golden and the green, 
Malaya's nectar'd mangusteen ;^ 
Prunes of Bokara, and sweet nuts 
From the far groves of Samarkand ; 
And Basra dates, and apricots, 
Seed of the Sun,|| from Iran's land ;— 



clasps prettily ordered. "-•-farrm. Niebuhr mentioni 
their showing but one eye in conversation. 

•" The golden grapes of Cuabla.^'--- Vcsmption of 
Persia. 

t«' The fruits exported from C»ubul are apples, pears, 
pomegran ates,. et c . " - - •ElphinsUme . 

+" We sat down under a tree, listened to tr-e birds, and 
talked with the son of our Mehmaunder ahoo? our coun- 
try and Caubul, ofwhich he gave an endianling account ; 
that rity and its 100,<»00 gardens, etc"- Id. 

^ '• The mangusteen, the most delicaie fruit in the 
rcrid ; the pride of the Mslay Islands '---.l/orscfer. 

II '• A delicious kind of apricot, called by t'.ie Persians 
tokm-ed shems, sifiifying sun's aeed."-- Description oj 
Penia. 



260 "HE LIGHT OF THE HAREM. 

With rich conserve of Visna cherries,* 
Of orange flowers, and of those berries 
That wild and fresh, the young gazelles 
Feed on in Erac's rocky dells.t 
All these in rich vases smile, 

In baskets of pure sandal-wood, 
And urns of porcelain from that isleT 

Sunk underneath the Indian flood, 
Whence oft the lucky diver brings 
Vases to grace the halls of kings. 
Wmes too, of every chme and hue, 
Around their hquid lustre threw ; 
Amber Rosolli II — the bright dew 
From vineyards of the Green- Sea gushing ;^ 
And Skiraz wine, that richly ran 

As if that jewel, large and rare, 
The ruby, for which Cuelai-Chan 

OffBr'd a city's wealth, IT was blushing 

Melted within the goblets there ! 



* <« Sweetmeats in a chrystal cup, consisting of ro«» 
leaves in conserve, with lemon or Visna cherrj, oranga ; 
flowers, etc "•-•/?iws^/. 

t " Antelopes cropping the fresh berries of Erac."-- | 
The Moallakat, a poem of Tarafa. 

X Mauri-ga-Sima, an island near Formosa, supposed to i 
have been sunk In the sea for the crimes of its inhabitants. 
The vessels which the fisherman and divers bring up from 
it are sold at an immense price in China and Japan. --See 
Kempfer. 

^ Persian Tales. || The white wine of Kishma. 

^ •« The King of Zeilan is said to have the very finesi 
rubv that was ever seen, Kublai-Khan sent and offered 



THE LIGHT OF THE HAREM. Zo 

A-iid amply Selim quaffs of each, 

And seems resolv'd the floods shall reach 

His inward heart — shedding around 

A genial deluge, as they run, 
That soon shall leave no spot undrown'd. 

For Love to rest his wings upon. 

lie little knew how well the boy 

Can float upon a goblet's streams, 
Lighting them with his smile of joy ; — 

As bards have seen him, in their dreams 
Down the blue Ganges laughing glide 

Upon a rosy lotus wreath,* 
Catching new lustre from the tide 

That with his image shone beneath. 
But what are cups, without the aid 

Of songs to speed them as they flow ? 
And see — a lovely Georgian maid, 

With all the bloom, the freshen' d glow 
Of her own country maidens' looks, 
When warm they rise from Teflis' brooks ;"t 
And with an eye, whose restless ray, 

Full, floating, dark — oh he, who knows 
His heart is weak, of heav'n should pray. 



the value of a city for it. but the King answered he woula 
not give it for the treasure of the world. "•-•ikiarco Polo, 

♦ Tha Indians feign that Cupid was first seen /loatiny 
down llie Ganges on the Nymphaea Nelumbo.---See Pen 
nant 

t Teflis iscelebrh.ed for ils natural warm baths. -.-Set 
Ebn Haukal. 



"62 T1I£ LlGUr Of THE HAilIM. 

To guard him from such eyes as those '- 
With a voluptuous wildness flings 
Her snow hand across the strings 
Of a syrinda,* and thus sings : 



Come hither, come hither — by night and by day 
We hnger in pleasures that never are gone ; 

Like the waves of the summer, as one dies away 
Another as sweet and as shining comes on. 

And the love that is o'er, in expiring gives birth 
To a new one as warm, as unequall'd in bliss ; 

And oh ! if there be an Elysium on earth, 
It is this, it is this. 

Here maidens are sighing, and fragrant their 
sigh 
As the flower of the Amra just op'd by a 
bee ;t 
And precious their tears as that rain from the 
sky,t 
Which turns into pearls as it falls in the sea. 
Oh ! think what the kiss and smile must be 
worth, 

* " The Indian Syrinda or s.\\\\iiT."---Sy7nes. 

t" Beliglitful iPre i]ie fioweis of tne Anira-tre«8 on the 
mountain tops, vv}iilf> the mtimiurins; bees pursue theii 
roluptuous toil "---Song of Jnyadeva. 

X " The Kisan, or drops of sining rain, which thev be 
lieve to pro Ju:e pearls if i.iiey fall into srells.''- ••Aick 



THE LIGHT OF THE HA REM. 263 

When the sigh and the tear are so perfect in 
bliss, 
And own, if there be an Elysium on earth. 
It is this, it is this. 

Here sparkles the nectar, that hallow' d by love,. 
Could draw down those angels of old from 
their sphere. 
Who for wine of this earth* left the fountains 
above. 
And forgot heaven's stars for the eyes we havet 
here. 
And bless'd with the odor our goblets give forth. 
What Spirit the sweets of his Eden would 
miss? 
For oh ! if there be an Elysium on earth, 
It is this, it is this. 

The Georgian's song was scarcely mute, 

When the same measure, sound for sound. 
Was caught up a another lute, 

And so divinely breath' d around, 
That all stood hush'd and wondering, 

And turn'd and look'd into the air, 
As if they thought to seethe wing 

Of IsRAFiL,t the Angel, there ; — 
So powerfully on every soul 



* For an account of the share which wine had in the fsB 
of the angels-- see MaHti 
t The Angel of nius'c. 



264 THE LIGHT OF TEE HAKEM. 

That new, enchanted measure stole. 
While now a voice, sweet as the note 
Oi thu charm'd lute, was heard to float 
Along its chords, and so entwine 

•Its sound with theirs, that none knew whethei 
The voice or lute was most divme, 

So wond'rously they went together: 



There's a bUss beyond all that the minstrel hasi 
told, 

When two, that are link'd in one heavenlyj 
tie. 

With heart never changing and brow never 
cold. 

Love on through all ills, and love on till they| 
die! 
One hour of a passion so sacred is worth 

Whole ages of heartless and wandering bilaa J 
And oh ! if there be an Elysium on earth, 
It is this, it is this. 



'Twas not the air, 'twas not the words, 
But that deep magic in the chords 
And in the lips, that gave such power 
As music knew not till that hour. 
At once a hundred voices said, 
'• It IS the mask'd Arabian maid !" 
While Sflim, who had felt the strain 



THE LIGHT OF THE HAREM. 265 

Deepest of any, and had lain 
Some minutes wrapt, as in a trance, 

After the fairy sounds were o'er, 
Too inly touch'd for utterance. 

Now motion' d with his hand for more :— 



Fly to the desert, fly with me, 
Our Arab tents are rude for thee ; 
But oh ! the choice what heart can doubt 
Of tents with love, or thrones without? 

Our rocks are rough, but smiling there 
Th' acacia waves her yellow hair. 
Lonely and sweet, nor lov'd the less 
For flowering m a wilderness. 

Our sands are bare, but down their slope 
The silvery -footed antelope 
As gracefully and gaily sprmgs 
As o'er the marble courts of kings. 

Then come — thy Arab maid will be 
The lov'd and lone acacia tree, 
The antelepe, whose feet shall bless 
With their light sound thy loneliness. 

Oh ! there are looks and tones that dart 
An instant sunshine through the heart- 
As if the soul that minute caught 
Some treasure it through life had sought, 



2t>6 THE LIGHT Oi THE HAREM. 

As if the very lips and eyes 
Predestin'd to have all our sighs. 
And never be forgot agaui, 
Sparkled and spoke beibre us then i 

So came thy every glance and '.one, 
When firsi on me they breathd and shone i 
New, as if brought from other spheres. 
Yet vi^elcome as if lov'd for years ! 

Then fly with me — if thou hast kno'vn 
No other tiame, nor falsely thrown 
A gem away that tliou hadst sworn 
Should ever in thy heart be worn. 

Come, if the love thou hast for me 
Is pure and fresh as mine for thee — 
Fresh as the fountain under ground 
When first 'tis by the lapwing found.* 

But if for me thou dost forsake 
Some other maid and rudely break 
Her worshipp'd image from its base, 
To give to me the ruin'd place ; 

Then fare thee well — I'd rather make 
My bower upon some icy lake 
When thawing suns begin to shine, 
Than trust to love so false as thine ! 

♦The Hudhud or Lapwins, is supposed to hare the 
pc^er of discovering water under ground. 



TUE LIGHT Ot THE HHUEAl. 26' 

There was a palhos in this lay, 

That, e'eK. without enchantment's ait 
Would instantly have found its way 

Deep into Selim's burning heart ; 
But breathing, as it did, a tone 
To earthly lutes and lips unknown, 
With every cord fresh from the touch 
Of Music's Spirit 'twas too much! 
Starting, he dash'd away the cup— 

Which, all the time of this sweet air 
His hand had held, untasted, up. 

As if 'twere held by magic there— 
And naming her, so long unnam'd, 

" Oh NOUKMAIIAL ! oh NOURMAHAL ! 

Hadst thou but sung this witching strain; 
I could forget— forgive thee all. 
And never leave those eyes again." 

The mask is off— the charm is wrought 
And Selim to his heart has caught, 
In blushes, more than ever bright. 
His NouRMAHAL, his Harem's Light ! 
And well do vanish' d frowns enhance 
The charm of every brighten'd glance; 
And dearer seems each dawning smile 
For having lost its hght awhile ; 
And, happier now for all her sighs, 

As on his arm her head reposes, 
She whispers him, with laughing eyes, 

" Remember, love, the Feast of Roses! 



268 LALLA KOOKU. 

Fadladee.n, at the conclus-on ot this ligl: 
hapsody.took occasion to sum up his opinion o 
the young Cashmerian's poetry — of which, h^ 
trusted, they ,iad that evenmg heard the last 
Having recapitulated the epithets, " frivolous"- 
" inharmonious" — nonsensical," he proceeded 
to say that, vie'sving it in the most favorable light 
it resembled one of those Maldivian boats, U\ 
"'hich the Princess had alluded in the relation o<: 
her dream — a slight, gilded thing, sent adrifi 
without rudder or ballast, and with nothing bu^ 
vapid sweets and faded flowers on board. The 
profusion, indeed, of flowers and birds, whicl 
this poet had ready on all occasions — not to men- 
tion dews, gems, etc. — was a most oppressivf| 
kind of opulence to his hearers: and had the un- 
lucky eflect of giving to his style all the glitter o: 
the flower-garden without its method, and al 
the flutter of the aviary without its song. In ad-^ 
dition to this, he chose his subjects badly, and 
was always most inspired by the worst parts ol 
ihem. The charms of paganism, the merits ol 
rebellion — these were the themes honored with 
his particular enthusiasm ; and, in the poem just 
recited, one of his most palatable passages was 
in praise of that beverage of the unfaithful, wine 
*' being perhaps," said he, relaxing i.ito a smile 
as conscious of his own character in the Harem 
on this point, "one of those birds, whose fancy 
owes all hs illumination to the grape, like that 
painted porcelain, so curious and so rare, whos* 



AN ORIENTAL, RVSAJ, NCE. 26*] 

images are only visible, when liquor /s poured 
into it." Upon the whole, it was his ooiiiion, 
from the specimens which they had heard, and 
vvhich, he begged to say, were the most tiresome 
part of the journey, that — whatever other merita 
this well dressed young gentleman might pos- 
sess — poetry was by no means his proper avoca- 
tion : "andindeed," concluded the critic, "from 
his fondness for flowers and for birds, I would 
venture to suggest that a florist or a bird-catcher 
is a much more suitable calling for him than a 
[ poet.*' 

\ They had now begun to ascend those barren 
, mountains, which separate Cashmere from the 
; rest of India ; and, as the heats were intolerabU-, 
, and the time of their encampments limited to the 
few hours necessary for refreshment and repose, 
there was an end to all their delightful eveninga, 
and Lalla Rookh saw no more of Feramorz. 
She now felt that her short dream of happiness 
was over, and that she had nothing but the re- 
collection of its few blissful hours, like the one 
draught of sweet water that serves the camel 
across the wilderness, to be her heart's refresh- 
ment during the dreary waste of life that was be- 
fore her. The blight that had fallen upon her 
spirits soon found its way to her cheek, and her 
ladies saw with regret — though not without some 
suspicion of the cause — that the beauty of their 
mistress, of which they were almost as proud as 
of their own, was fast ■■'amshing away a.: the 



270 LALLA ROOKH. 

very moment of all when she had most need 
it. What must the King of Bucharia feel, wheii 
instead of the lively and beautiful Lalla Rooki 
whom the poets of Delhi had described as nioi 
perfect than the divinest images in the House 'i 
Azor, he should receive a pale arul inanimaij 
victim, upon whose cheek neither health ml 
pleasure bloomed, and from whose eyes Lo\| 
had tied — to hide himself in her heart I 

If anj thing could have charmed away th' 
melancholy of her spirits, it would have bee 
the fresh airs and enchanting scenery of th;, 
Valley, which the Persians so justly called th 
Unequalled.* But neither the coolness of its a| 
mosphere, so luxurious after toiling up thoti 
bare and burning mountains — nc'ither the spier 
dor of the minarets and pagodas, that shone oii 
from the depth of its woods, nor the grottos, hei 
mitagos, and miraculous fountains, which mak 
I -ery spot of that region holy ground ; — neithe 
the countless water-falls, that rush into the Val 
ley from all those high and romantic mountain 
that enfiircle it, nor the fair city on the Lalc€ 
whose houses, roofed with flowers, appeared £ 
a distance like one vast and variegated parterre 
not all these wonders and glories of the mos 
lovely country under the sun could steal he 
heart for a minute from those sad thcughte 



* Kuchrnire be Nazeer.-. ./brj^cr 



AN ORIENTAL ROMANCE. 271 

which but darke jed and grew biiter every step 
she advanced. 

The gay pomps and processions that met her 
upon her entrance into the Valley, and the mag 
nificence with which the roads all along were 
decorated, did honor to the taste and gallantry ol 
the young Kmg. It was night when they ap- 
proached the city, and, for the last two miles, 
they had passed under arches, thrown from 
hedge to hedge, festooned wi^h only those rarest 
roses from which the Attar Gul, more precious 
than gold is distilled, and illuminated in rich and 
fanciful forms with lanterns of the triple-colored 
tortoise-shell of Pegu. Sometimes, from a dark 
wood by the side of the road, a display of fire- 
works would break out, so sudden and so brilhant, 
that a Bramin might think he saw that grove, in 
whose purple shade the God of Battles was 
born, bursting into a flame at the moment of his 
birth. — While, at other times, a quick and play- 
ful irradiation continued to brighten all the fields 
and gardens by which they passed, forming a 
line of dancing lights along the horizon ; like the 
meteors of the north as they are seen by those 
hunters, who pursue the white and blue foxes on 
the confines of the Icy Sea. 

These arches and fire -works delighted the 
ladies of the Princess exceedingly : and, with 
then" usual good lOgic, they deduced from his 
faste for illummations, that the King of Bucharia 
"vould make the most exemplary husband imagi- 



272 LALLA ROOKH. 

nable. Nov, indeed, could Lalla Rookh herself 
help feeling the k'u^dness and splendor with! 
which the young bridegroom welcomed her :— - 
but she also fek how painful is the gratituder 
which kindness from those we cannot love ex- 
cites; and that their best blandishments comc'^ 
over the heart witn all that chilUng and deadly i 
sweetness, which we can fancy in the ce'd 
odoriferous wind that is to blow over the earth \ 
in the last days. 

The marriage was fixed for the morning afteii 
her arrival, when she was, for the first time, tor 
be presented to the monarch in that Imperial 
Palace beyond the lake, called the Shalimar. 
Though a night ot more wakeful and anxious^ 
thought had never been passed in the Happy \ 
Valley before, yei, when she arose in the morn- 
mg, and her ladies came round her, to assist ini 
the adjustment of the bridal ornaments, they^ 
f bought they had never seen her look half so< 
beautiful. What she had lost of the bloom and' 
radiancy of her charms was more than made up; 
by that intellectual expression, that soul in the 
eyes which is worth all the rest of loveliness. 
When they had tinged her fingers with the Hen- 
na leaf, and placed upon her brow a small coro- 
net of jewels, of the shape worn by the ancient 
Queens of Bucharia, they flung over her head 
the rose-colored bridal veil, and she proceeded 
to the barge that was to convey her across the 
lake ; — first kissing, with a mournful look, the 



AN ORIENTAL ROKANCE. 273 

little amulet of cornelian which her father had 
hung about her neck at parting. 

The morning was as fair as the maid upon 
whose nuptials it rose, and the shining lake, all 
covered with boats, the minstrels playing upon 
the shores of the islands, and the crowded sum- 
mer-houses on the green hiils around, witL 
shawls and banners waving from their roofs, 
presented such a picture of animated rejoicing, 
as only she, who was the object of it all, did noi 
feel with transport. To Lalla Rookh alone it 
W£is a melancholy pageant ; nor could she have 
ever borne to look upon the scene, were it not 
for a hope that, among the crowds around, she 
might once more, perhaps, catch a glimpse of 
Feramorz. So much was her imagination 
haunted by this thought, that there was scarcely 
an islet or boat she passed, at which her heart 
did not flutter with a momentary fancy that he 
was there. Happy, in her eyes, the humblest 
slave upon whom the light of his dear looks fell. 
In the barge immediately after the Princess was 
Fadladeen, with his silken curtains thrown 
widely apart, that all might have the benefit of 
his august presence, and with his head full of 
fhe speech he was to deliver to the King, " con- 

erning Feramorz, and hterature, and the Cha- 

)iik, as connected therewith." 

They had now entered the canal which leads 
from the Lake to the splendid domes and saloons 
of the ShaUmar, and glided or thi-ough garder«9 
18 



274 LALLA KOOKH. 

ascending from each bank, fuil of flowering 
shrubs that made the air all perfume ; while 
from the middle of the canal rose jets of water, 
smooth and unbroken, to such a dazzling height, , 
that they stood like pillars of diamond in the 
sunshine. After sailing under the arches of 
various saloons, they at length arrived at the last i 
and most magnificent, where the monarch ' 
awaited the coming of his bride ; and such waa j 
the agitation of her heart and frame, that it was i 
with "difficulty she walked up the marble steps, j 
which were covered with cloth of gold for her i 
ascent from the barge. At the end of the hall 
stood two thrones, as precious as the Cerulean 
Throne of Koolburga, on one of which sat Ali 
Ris, the youthful King of Bucharia, and on the 
other was, in a few minutes, to be placed the 
most beautiful Princess in the world. Immedi- 
ately upon the entrance of Lalla Rookh into 
the saloon, the monarch descended from his. 
throne to meet her ; but scarcely had he time toj 
take her hand in hie, when she screamed with 
surprise, and fainted at his feet. It was Fera- 
MORZ himself that stood before her ! — Feramorz 
was, himself, the Sovereign of Bucharia, who in 
this disguise had accompanied his young bride 
from Delhi, and, having won her xove as ani 
Immble minstrel, now amply deserved to enjoy] 
it as a King. 

The consternation of Fadladiien at this dis- 
"ov^ry 'vas, for the moment, almost pitiable! 



AN ORlENTAi. ROMANCE. 275 

But change of opinion is a resource too conve- 
nient in courts for this experienced cotirtier not lo 
have learned to avail himself of it. His criticisms 
were all, of course, recanted instantly ; he was 
giezed with an admiration of the King's verses, 
as unbounded, as, he begged him to believe, it 
was disinterested ; and the following week saw 
him in possession of an additional place, swear- 
ing by all the Saints of Islam that never had 
there existed so great a poet as the Moiiarch, 
Aliris, and ready to prescribe his favorite regi- 
men of the Chabuk for every man, woman, and 
child that dared to think otherwise. 

Of the happiness of the King and Queen ol 
Bucharia, after such a beginning, there can be 
butUttle doubt ; and, among the lesser symptoms, 
it is recorded of Lalla Rookh, that to the day 
of her death, in memory of their delightfiU 
journey, she never called the King by any othfi^ 
IUUU8 thai;i Fekamorz. 



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